


Sherlock is Actually a Girl's Name

by ditzen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon Divergence - His Last Vow, Cheating, Closeted Character, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Jealous John Watson, Jealous Sherlock, Pregnant John, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditzen/pseuds/ditzen
Summary: “So, you don’t have a boyfriend?” Jane asked.“A boyfriend?” Sherlock scoffed. “No, not really my area.”“Oh! Do you have a girlfriend?”“No.”“Unattached like me. Good. I mean, not good like I want…just good like it’s okay because both of us will be like single ladies in the city. It’s fine.”“I know it’s fine.” Sherlock hadn’t removed her eyes from Jane. “You should know, I consider myself married to my work. I’m flattered by your interest but I’m not really looking for anything right…”“Ah, no! I wasn’t asking you out, I just think it’s fine.”“Good. Thank you.”But the flush on Jane’s skin made Sherlock regret declining her advances.A retelling of series 1-3 as if our main characters were women instead of men including an alternative storyline for series 4.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	1. A Study in Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Various scenes and plots from the series that would be different if Sherlock and John were women and some other characters were genderswapped as well. I didn't want to use any of the same names as characters in the show Elementary but it will be really obvious who is who.  
> I used a lot of references to the original TV series and various episodes including directly quoting some lines. I do not own the show Sherlock.  
>  **No spoilers but the 'Major Character Death' warning is not for Sherlock or John**
> 
> Also, this is my first ever fic here on this platform so if you like it and think I should do more stories please let me know.

“It’s a bit different from my day,” Sherlock Holmes heard a blonde woman remark as she and Mike Stamford entered the lab. The woman limped in with a cane and took a quick glance around the room. She looked but did not observe, Sherlock noticed.

“You have no idea,” Mike said.

Sherlock was at the computer. Her black curls fell along her face, almost obscuring her peripheral vision but even though she kept her gaze on the screen in front of her she was aware of her surroundings. Based on the data she just acquired, she solved her case. She needed to let her client know. One of the people who just arrived may be about to help her do that.

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? No signal on mine,” she said sternly. It almost wasn’t a question, as if she expected Mike to only say yes.

The man, though, did not obey. “What’s wrong with the landline?”

“I prefer to text,” she hissed, annoyed that he didn’t give in.

“Sorry, my other coat.”

Sherlock sighed, knowing that Stamford was one to not be helpful.

“Here,” the blonde woman offered suddenly. “Use mine.”

Sherlock swiveled in the chair to get a look at the woman approaching her. She was much shorter than Sherlock but of average height for a woman. Her hair fell straight and barely to her shoulders. She walked with her cane, leaning her weight awkwardly into it as she moved. Her make-up was obviously put on in haste or at least without much care. She didn’t look unkempt just a bit unfeminine. She even wore clothing that might have been bought from the men’s section.

But as quickly as Sherlock looked her over, she was already texting away on the phone.

“This is an old friend of mine,” Mike finally explained, “Jane Watson.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked absentmindedly without looking away from Jane’s phone.

“I’m sorry?” Jane sputtered with confusion.

“Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock hated repeating herself but for some reason, she was instantly willing to appease the stranger.

“Afghanistan. How did you know?”

“Do you like the violin?” Sherlock asked without acknowledging Jane’s question.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jane said baffled.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking, would that bother you?” Sherlock clarified, again not getting irritated that she had to repeat the questions. “I also don’t speak for days at a time. I think if we are flatmates we should know the worst about each other.”

“Oh, you told her about me?” Jane turned to Mike.

Mike shrugged. “Not a word.”

“So, what about flatmates?” Jane mused.

“I mentioned it to Mike earlier today and now he brings me to meet an old friend who is just home from service in Afghanistan. It’s not a big assumption.”

“How did you know about Afghanistan?”

Sherlock logged out of the computer and grabbed her coat. “There’s a place in central London, we could make rent together. Let’s meet there tomorrow at 7. I have to dash, though, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

“Is that it?” Jane said. “We don’t know a thing about each other and now we’re going to be flatmates. Just like that?”

“I know you’re an army doctor,” Sherlock smiled. “You’re invalided from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother with a bit of money who’s worried about you, but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him, possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”

She caught her breath after letting out so many words. Her eyes met Jane’s. Jane twitched an eyebrow. Sherlock rushed to the door and exited the room halfway before turning on her stiletto heel and stuck her head back in.

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street,” she spoke. “Good afternoon.”

Behind her, she could hear Mike say, “Yeah, she’s always like that.”

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Jane was about to knock on the door to 221B Baker Street when she saw Sherlock climbing out of a cab behind her. Her dark hair rustled in the slight breeze. She wore a blue scarf along with the same black coat Jane saw her wearing the previous day. Jane couldn’t help but notice how stylish and posh Sherlock appeared. She felt a bit self-conscious realizing her appearance, with her hair sticking at all ends and wearing a knitted jumper.

“Hi,” Sherlock said softly.

“Miss Holmes,” Jane replied.

“Please, Sherlock is fine.”

“Prime spot got to be expensive.” Jane motioned to the flat in front of them.

Sherlock rang the bell and explained. “Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. She’s giving me a special deal. She owes me a favor. A few years ago, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.”

 _Who is this lady?_ Jane wondered. “You stopped her husband being executed?”

“No, no, I ensured it.”

Someone whom Jane assumed to be the landlady, Mrs. Hudson embraced Sherlock and showed them inside. They climbed the staircase, Jane a little slower with her cane. When the door opened, Jane paused to admire the room and was taken aback by the mess. Boxes of old junk surrounded them.

“This can be very nice!” Jane exclaimed with a grin. “Soon as we get all this rubbish cleared out.”

Sherlock at the same time she cried out, “Yes, I think so, that’s why I went ahead and moved in.”

Jane grimaced at the misunderstanding, regretting that she may have insulted her new flatmate. Sherlock stared back at her with bright, grey eyes obviously fazed by the statement.

“This is all yours…” Jane croaked. “And that’s a skull.”

“Obviously I can straighten a few things,” Sherlock responded and hovered over to the skull in question. “And a friend of mine. Well, I say friend…” She never finished the thought.

“What do you think Dr. Watson? There’s another room upstairs,” Mrs. Hudson interrupted. She peered at Jane with expectation, “If you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

“Of course, we’ll be needing two,” Jane gasped.

“Now, don’t worry, there are all sorts here. Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.” Mrs. Hudson spoke in a sort of half-whisper where she pretended that she didn’t want anyone to hear her say it but actually did want to be heard. She turned around and went into the kitchen, tutting at the Bunsen burners and test tubes Sherlock had left on the table.

“I looked you up online,” Jane mentioned to Sherlock. She recalled the information she gathered, at least what she could keep up with. “ _The Science of Deduction_.”

“What did you think?”

Jane could feel Sherlock studying her, and it made her insecure. Obviously what Sherlock had done at St. Bart’s when they met had been deduction. It was difficult to say if Jane believed it or not even though she had experienced it herself.

“You said you could identify a software designer by his tie, and an airline pilot by his left thumb,” she disparaged.

“Yes. And I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and the drinking habits of your brother on your mobile phone.”

Jane sighed and squeezed the handle of her cane. “But how?”

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

The two women were in a cab on the way to the crime scene of a fourth “serial suicide.” Sherlock breathed with glee. She could feel excitement ball up in her like a warm swig of alcohol. Her new flatmate next to her visibly shivered with anticipation. Sherlock knew it was time to reveal everything to her that the mystery of all had enticed her enough.

In her mind, Sherlock replayed the moment where she and Jane had met. She came up with the words to describe how she was able to read the doctor’s life from just a handful of clues.

“Tanned face,” she started, “but no tan above the wrists. You’d been abroad but not sunbathing. Your hairstyle, the way you hold yourself, and your masculine clothing choices says military. But your conversation as you entered the room says you trained at Bart’s, so army doctor. I found it very admirable that they chose a woman. You must be better than everyone to even get the chance.”

Jane blushed and Sherlock noticed it right away. It had been a while since someone complimented her, she reasoned. She stared at Jane’s pink cheeks and noted how sweet the woman looked in that vulnerable expression. This tugged away at Sherlock’s thoughts, so she went back to her explanation.

“Your limp is really bad when you walk, but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand as if you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the circumstances of the original injury were traumatizing. Wounded in action then. And with a suntan there’s only two options for where you could have been. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“You mentioned a therapist,” Jane muttered.

“Right, you have a psychosomatic limp, so you have to have a therapist.”

Jane smacked her lips together, a sign that Sherlock was getting to her.

“I know about your brother,” Sherlock continued, “because of the phone. Expensive, email enabled, mp3 player but you’re looking for a flatshare, you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift then. It also has many scratches like it wasn’t treated right, you don’t seem the type to do that, so it must be used. A hand-me-down from a sibling.”

The phone in question was in Sherlock’s hand as she spoke. She turned it over to reveal the engraving on it, she knew Jane would realize then how Sherlock could figure out the rest.

“Harry Watson is a relative of yours but not your father since this is a young person’s item. And not a cousin if you are in such a need for housing you don’t have extended family. Brother, it is. The three kisses from Clara, a romantic attachment but at the expense of the phone, it’s a wife, not a girlfriend. Only six months old and he’s already given it away. They broke up and he’s left without sentiment, he left her. He wants you to keep in touch, that’s why he gave it to you. You’re looking for cheap accommodation and still won’t go to him then you have a problem with him. You side with the wife or you don’t like his drinking.”

“How can you know about the drinking?” Jane interrupted breathlessly as if she had been hanging for dear life on Sherlock’s every word.

“Shot in the dark but the charge port has scuff marks around it. Shaking hands that can’t quite get the cord in just right. Drunk’s phones are never without them.”

Sherlock placed the phone gently in Jane’s hand. The blonde looked down at it and enclosed her fingers on it. She lifted her glance back at Sherlock and grinned.

“That was amazing. Quite extraordinary.”

The tall brunette was stunned. That wasn’t the reaction she expected based on previous incidents.

“That’s not what people usually say,” Sherlock languished.

Jane crossed her arms and smirked in doubt. “What do they usually say?”

“Piss off,” Sherlock shrugged.

Jane dropped her smirk and frowned. “But honestly, it’s brilliant.”

Sherlock smiled at her. “I usually get some things wrong, though.”

“Harry and I never were close, unfortunately. Harry and Clara, they split up three months ago. Harry has a drinking problem.”

“Oh, spot on!”

“But,” Jane said flashing her teeth in a large grin. “Harry’s short for Harriet.”

_Sister! Of course, sister! How could you miss that, Sherlock?_

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

“22 Northumberland St,” Sherlock said pointing out the window behind them. “Keep your eyes on it.”

The woman had arrived at a small Italian restaurant near the address that Sherlock had tricked the murderer to show up to. Or at least that was what Sherlock thought would happen. Jane was still skeptical of the consulting detective’s methods.

“He’s not just going to ring the doorbell,” Jane said as she and Sherlock sat at the table. “He’d have to be mad.”

“He has killed four people.”

“Ah, right.”

“Sherlock!” cried a voice approaching them. “Anything on the menu, free! All on the house for you and your date.”

The man smiled as he handed menus to them.

“You want something to eat?” Sherlock asked.

Jane ignored her. “I’m not her date,” she corrected the man.

He had put his arm around Sherlock now and seemed to have missed what Jane had just said. “This woman got me off a murder charge!”

“This is Angelo,” Sherlock explained as the man landed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade that at the time of a triple-murder, Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.”

“She cleared my name.”

“A bit.”

Jane was impressed. Again. Everything that she had witnessed from Sherlock that evening had only entranced her more and more.

“For this woman, I’d have gone to prison,” Angelo sang.

“You did,” Sherlock said.

“I’ll get you a candle for the table, more romantic.”

“I’m not her date,” Jane whispered, defeated, as Angelo rushed off.

“Eat,” Sherlock offered, not fazed by Angelo’s mistake. “We might have to wait a long time.”

When the man returned with a candle Jane thanked him and ordered some food. She wasn’t going to reject free dinner, date or not.

A bowl of pasta later, Jane was ready to find out even more about her new flatmate. Since getting involved with her, Jane had taken a slight detour, so to speak, and ended up meeting someone who identified himself as Sherlock’s archenemy. Yet, he claimed to have concern for her. Jane was curious for several reasons to know who exactly that was.

“People don’t have archenemies,” she said.

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed.

“In real life, there are no archenemies.”

“Sounds dull.”

“So, who was that guy?”

“What do real people have then?”

She was testing her, Jane knew that. _Okay, let’s play the game._ Jane entertained a few thoughts about who Sherlock’s archenemy was. From what Jane remembered about him he dressed and spoke just as posh as Sherlock. An ex would make sense, maybe a stalker? Or a client whom she screwed over. Did she ever screw over clients or get a case wrong? He said he was worried about her.

“Friends,” Jane said finally. “People they like and people they don’t like. Boyfriends, girlfriends.”

“As I said, dull.”

“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend?” Sherlock goaded. “No, not really my area.”

Jane could kick herself. Of course, Sherlock didn’t have a boyfriend, it’s why Angelo thought they were on a date. She hoped she didn’t offend with the question.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have a girlfriend?”

Sherlock’s gray eyes darted at Jane finally as if the conversation had interested her. She had to know that lesbians didn’t bother Jane, which had nothing to do with her estrangement with Harry.

“No.”

“Unattached like me. Good.”

 _Good?_ _Why is that good, Jane?_

“I mean, not good like I want…just good like it’s okay because both of us will be like single birds in the city. It’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine.” Sherlock hadn’t removed her eyes from Jane. “You should know, I consider myself married to my work. I’m flattered by your interest but I’m not really looking for anything right…”

“Ah, no! I wasn’t asking you out, I just think it’s fine.”

“Good. Thank you.”

They were silent again until-

“That’s clever, a taxi! Is it? Why is that clever?” Sherlock muttered to herself.

Jane turned around quickly to look out the window. “That’s him,” she stated.

“Don’t stare.”

“You’re staring.”

“We can’t both stare.”

Then Sherlock was off. Jane followed closely behind; her cane left sitting on the booth under the table at Angelo’s.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

_Yes, it is psychosomatic!_ Sherlock thought as she watched a cane-less Jane sprint ahead of her towards Baker Street. _Fuck, why didn’t I wear pointe flats today?_ Sherlock struggled down the pavement in her Jimmy Choos.

“That was ridiculous,” Jane gasped when the two of them landed inside 221B. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you invaded Afghanistan,” Sherlock joked.

“It wasn’t just me.”

They both laughed, backs to the wall as it nearly failed to keep them upright. They laughed until they choked on their spit and were just as out of breath as they were when they had been chasing the cab.

Sherlock started to calm down and looked over at Jane who was beaming like a mad man. She was pink again like she had been before when Sherlock first complimented her. Once again, Sherlock saw the heat on Jane’s skin to be very pleasurable to her eyes.

“Jane,” she whispered. Suddenly Sherlock was regretful for declining Jane’s advances at the restaurant. “I think I spoke prematurely before when I said…”

“Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?” Mrs. Hudson sobbed as she approached.

“Huh?” Sherlock said dumbly, shaken from her thoughts.

“Upstairs!”

Jane was the first up but Sherlock was immediately behind.

“What are you doing?” the taller woman demanded to Detective Inspector Lestrade who was seated in Sherlock’s armchair. “You can’t break into my flat!”

“I didn’t break-in, it’s a drugs bust,” he replied plainly. Around the flat were several members of Scotland Yard riffling through Sherlock’s things.

“Seriously?” Jane said with shock. “No! You?”

_Oh, please don’t compare me to your sister. I’m clean._

“I’m clean!” Sherlock spurted. “I don’t even smoke.”

Everything else was a blur as the answers to the case fell in place in front of Sherlock. The stillborn daughter, the email address, the GPS capabilities on the phone, it all came to her one after another.

“It’s here, 221 Baker Street,” Jane said of the victim’s phone which she was tracking.

“Sherlock, your taxi is waiting for you,” Mrs. Hudson fretted.

And now, even the suspect came to her so easily.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

The laptop dinged as it updated the location tracking of Jennifer Wilson’s phone. Jane saw that it was moving. Did Sherlock have it? Is that why she left? No, there must have been another lead that Sherlock was following.

But what?

It didn’t matter, Jane was going to chase the detective down herself. She was clever and tall, but she should not have left for an adventure through London so late by herself. Especially if her trek was to catch a murderer. Did Sherlock want to be the fifth victim?

She grabbed the laptop and her coat then rushed down the stairs to catch a cab. Like a miracle, one pulled up right away.

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t have an actual address. Please, if I tell you where to go can you take me?” she rambled to the driver.

With the laptop on her lap, Jane grabbed for her mobile and dialed Jennifer Wilson’s number. The call fell through but at least she knew the phone was still on so she could track it. She then tried Scotland Yard.

“Please, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak to him, it’s important. It’s an emergency!” she screamed in the phone. Whoever answered phones at the Yard needed to be fired.

“Left here, left!” she demanded to the cab driver. Jennifer Wilson’s phone had stopped moving and they were close.

“Roland-Kerr college,” the cabbie said as they pulled into the parking lot.

There was only one other vehicle parked, another taxi, empty. Jane shook her head. The taxi that Mrs. Hudson had been mentioning, Sherlock went with him. The taxi that they had chased after with the tourist passenger, they had been right. It was the driver, not his passenger. Sherlock knew he would show up and he did. Jane sighed with understanding.

She paid the cabbie and said, “Call the Yard, ask for Lestrade and tell him that Sherlock Holmes and Jane Watson are here with the man they’re looking for. Please, hurry.”

Then she was off. She couldn’t know for sure which building they were, but she had read once that humans always choose the right so that’s where she went. She ran through hallways and corridors.

“Sherlock!” she screamed as she busted each door open. Yet neither the detective nor the murderer could be found. She was running out of time, but she still did not give up.

Finally, she entered a dark room and spotted through the window, a light from the other building. She adjusted her eyes to the sight and watched as Sherlock held something small in her hand and moved it towards her mouth.

“Sherlock!” Jane screamed, but of course, the other woman could not hear her.

The man, the taxi driver, who had instigated this whole ordeal sat there watching. Jane felt a fury build in her. She wasn’t going to let this arsehole kill Sherlock. Suddenly, she felt herself feeling in her trousers for the gun she stashed there. She aimed, cocked, and shot through the window. In an instant, the man was down and Sherlock dropped the pill. Relieved, Jane lowered the gun to her side.

Later, when all of Scotland Yard and some paramedics were there, Sherlock confronted Jane. “Good shot,” she whispered.

“Yeah, must have been, through that window and all,” Jane hushed.

Immediately they both giggled.

“Stop we can’t giggle at a crime scene,” Jane scolded.

“Don’t blame me, you shot him!”

“Keep your voice down. I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t going to take that damn pill.”

“I wasn’t going to. I was playing for time. I knew you would show up.”

“No, you didn’t. You get your kicks from this, risking your life and proving you’re clever.”

“Why would I?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

Sherlock smiled. Jane grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to fuck up my nights, yeah, fuck up my nights, yeah, all of my nights” – Zara Larsson, _Ruin My Life_


	2. The Great Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“This is Vivienne Westwood!” Moriarty grumbled as she imitated brushing dirt off her shoulders. “Not that you would know. Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock?”_
> 
> _“Let me guess. You kill me?”_
> 
> _“Kill you? Don’t be obvious. I’m gonna kill you anyway, someday. I’m saving it up for a special occasion. No, if you don’t stop prying…” Moriarty distorted her face with her eyes wide and her mouth in a scowl. Sherlock swore she could even see flames in those pupils. “I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the heart out of you.”_
> 
> _“I’ve been informed that I don’t have one."_
> 
> _“But we both know that’s not quite true.” Moriarty’s fiery-red eyes twitched as she stole a quick glance over to Jane._
> 
> Sherlock and Jane meet this story's Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sam mentioned is Sarah Sawyer, the doctor from John's surgery that he dates in The Blind Banker and The Great Game.

“Obviously he’s not the father, look at the turn-ups on his jeans!” Sherlock hollered at the television in front of her. She sat in the armchair with her knees curled up to her chest and her favorite coat still on. Though it looked uncomfortable, it was cozy and snug to her. Next to her was Jane at the desk, working on the blog again but getting distracted by the drama on-going in the episode of Jeremy Kyle airing.

“I knew it was dangerous,” Jane piped in.

“Hmm?”

“Getting you into crap telly.”

“Not a patch on Connie Prince,” Sherlock responded, bringing up one of the cases the bomber made them work on.

“You’ve given Mycroft the memory stick yet?”

“Yep,” Sherlock lied. “He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood again.”

Jane seemed satisfied with that answer and got up. Jane always believed Sherlock so easily. She closed her laptop and headed for the door.

“I won’t be in for tea,” she said, clearing her throat in a way that made Sherlock think she was guilty about it. “I’m going to Sam’s. Oh, we need milk.”

Jane had gotten the milk exactly twenty-seven times since they moved into Baker Street together. Sherlock started to sense the resentment in that action after the twelfth time. She wasn’t sure why but she felt that she had to contribute to the milk condition to keep Jane from wanting to move in with her boyfriend.

“I’ll get some,” Sherlock said, hoping that would please the doctor.

“Really?” Jane beamed. Sherlock liked it.

“Really.”

After Jane had left and Sherlock heard the door close, she grabbed her laptop and started typing. _Found. The Bruce-Partington Plans. Please Collect. The pool. Midnight._

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Sherlock entered the pool room with the flash drive containing top-secret missile plans in her hand. She was no longer wearing her coat. Instead, she had pulled on a somewhat modest dress that didn’t mind getting dirty.

“Brought you a little getting-to-know-you gift,” she called out to the empty room, unsure which direction the criminal would come from. She turned her head and surveilled every angle. “That’s what it’s all been for, isn’t it? All your little puzzles making me dance. All to distract me from this.”

She twirled around and heard a door open from behind her. She stopped on her heel to see Jane standing there. Why Jane?

Jane was stone-faced but visibly shaken, her hands stuffed into the pockets of a heavy jacket. Sherlock knew that Jane had not been wearing it when she left Baker Street.

“Evening,” Jane spoke plainly. Her eyes flickered and Sherlock noticed the pattern of the blinks were three short, three long, three short.

Sherlock’s thoughts went blank.

“This a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock? Bet you never saw this coming.”

Jane freed her hands and opened the jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to her chest and a red laser of a sniper lit upon it. Sherlock stared in silence, approaching her cautiously.

“What would you like me to make her say next?” Jane said slowly as the words in the earpiece formed. “Gottle o’ geer. Gottle o’ geer.’ Gottle…”

“Stop it!” Sherlock begged, looking around the room to find the culprit.

“Nice touch this,” Jane said, once again repeating the words of the enemy, “the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him, I can stop Jane Watson, too. Stop her heart.”

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded angrily.

“I gave you my number!” cried a voice from the other side of the pool. A door swung open but no one had come out yet. “I thought you might call.”

A woman ambled out from the backroom and sauntered around the pool. She took her time to reach Sherlock and Jane. Sherlock recognized her. Though, when they had met the woman had been dressed like a man going by Jess, a gender-neutral name for sure. Sherlock hadn’t deduced Molly Hooper’s boyfriend as a woman in disguise. Yet, here she was as a woman, long brown waves, a well-fitted skirt suit, high heeled pumps that clicked with each step. How had she been so easily deceived?

Again, she spoke, “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? I cannot believe your dress has pockets. Jealous.”

Sherlock pulled the gun from her dress and pointed it at the mysterious woman.

“Jess Moriarty,” the woman said, ignoring the weapon aimed at her. “Hi!” she sang.

“Jess?” she continued mockingly, “Jess from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point.” She was closer to them.

“I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock. Just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the world. I’m a specialist, like you.”

“Dear Jess, please could you fix it for me to dispose of my boyfriend’s nasty sister?” Sherlock commented the hand holding the pistol was immobile. “Dear Jess, please could you fix it for me to disappear to South America?”

Moriarty grinned, “Just so.”

“Consulting criminal.”

“No one ever gets to me and no one ever will.”

“I did.” She cocked the gun.

“You’ve come the closest but now you’re in my way.”

“Thank you.”

“But the flirting’s over, Sherlock, Mummy’s had enough now,” Moriarty sang. “So, take this as a friendly warning, darling. _Fuck off_. Though, I’ve loved this gay…game of ours. It’s been a treat.”

“People have died,” Sherlock spat.

“That’s what people do!” Moriarty screamed, it echoed through the room.

Jane shook at this and Sherlock turned to her quickly. “Are you alright?”

Moriarty was right behind Jane now, she leaned in and Jane flinched. “You can talk Janie, dear. Go on.”

“Take it,” Sherlock offered with the flash drive, hoping it would move Moriarty away from the startled Jane.

Moriarty went to Sherlock and took it from her. “Boring!” She threw it into the pool.

Unexpectedly Jane was on her, tackling her from behind. She placed an arm stiffly on Moriarty’s neck. Moriarty laughed.

“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Miss Moriarty, then we both go up,” Jane hissed.

“You’ve really shown your hand there, Dr. Watson,” Moriarty giggled.

Jane looked up at Sherlock’s forehead and her face dropped. Sherlock realized that another sniper had made her a target. Defeated, Jane released Moriarty. The criminal imitated the motion of brushing dirt off her body.

“This is Vivienne Westwood!” Moriarty grumbled pointedly at Jane. “Not that _you_ would know.”

As if she was never annoyed, she looked up at Sherlock and smiled. “Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone?”

“Let me guess. You kill me?”

“Kill you? Don’t be obvious. I’m gonna kill you anyway, someday. I’m saving it up for a special occasion. No, if you don’t stop prying…” Moriarty distorted her face with her eyes wide and her mouth in a scowl. Sherlock swore she could even see flames in those pupils. “I’ll _burn_ you. I’ll burn the _heart_ out of you.”

“I’ve been informed that I don’t have one,” Sherlock retorted. It was true. There weren’t any earthly attachments that most people had. Perhaps it was high-functioning sociopathy, asexuality, or even autism. Sherlock didn’t have a closeness to anything or anyone.

“But we both know that’s not quite true.” Moriarty’s fiery-red eyes twitched as she stole a quick glance over to Jane. She smirked. “Well, I’d better be off. So nice to have the girl talk. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

She gave a wave and slithered away from the detective and her friend.

“Catch you later,” Sherlock mumbled.

“No, you won’t.”

When the door in the back slammed shut, the red lasers were gone. Sherlock rushed to Jane and pulled the jacket and explosives off her. She chucked it so that it was several feet away from them now.

“Are you…alright?” Sherlock shivered, grabbing Jane’s face and looking into her eyes.

“Yeah,” she lied, “I’m fine. Sherlock…”

Sherlock was on her knees next to Jane and embraced her.

“Are you alright?” Jane asked sheepishly into Sherlock's chest.

“That was…what you did…that was…good.”

They stared at each other quietly for some time. Sherlock felt something in her telling her to look Jane directly in the eye so she did. She wasn't even sure how much time passed when she was interrupted.

Laser dots appeared on Jane again, then Sherlock, several of them, much more than there had been. Sherlock couldn’t count them fast enough but there had to be more than a dozen.

“Sorry, girls, I am so changeable,” cried Moriarty from the back of the room again. “It’s a weakness. My only weakness.”

Jane’s head fell into her hands. Sherlock stood up. Moriarty walked over to them, stopping only at the jacket that had previously been worn by Jane.

“You can’t be allowed to continue,” Moriarty explained. “You just can’t.”

Sherlock realized immediately and turned to Jane. She nodded knowingly. Sherlock removed the pistol from her pocket again and pointed it at Moriarty. Then, she lowered the aim and was trained at the explosives near Moriarty’s feet. She cocked the gun.

Moriarty had a look of surprise on her face but it immediately vanished into a demented grin. Was this what she wanted? For them to destroy each other. Sherlock was ready to detonate the bomb; her finger hovered the trigger.

A sound rang out through the pool area. “You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life,” sang ABBA.

Sherlock and Jane looked at each other and then at Moriarty in stunned silence.

Moriarty sighed. “Do you mind if I get that?”

“No, please, you have the rest of your life,” Sherlock snorted.

“Digging the dancing queen,” the phone chimed before Moriarty accepted the call.

“Hello? Yes, of course, it is. What do you want?”

She looked at Sherlock and mouthed, “Sorry,” so Sherlock mouthed back, “Oh, fine.” Jane looked like she was going to burst into laughter.

“SAY THAT AGAIN!” Moriarty screamed, sobering Sherlock and Jane back into the situation at hand. She lowered the phone and turned to them. “Sorry, wrong day to die.”

“Better offer?” Sherlock asked.

“You’ll be hearing from me.”

Sherlock nodded with understanding. Moriarty placed the phone back on her ear and walked away, this time taking a different exit. “If you have what you say you have, I’ll make you rich,” she said to the person on the phone, her voice fading as she left the room.

The lasers disappeared again. Jane sighed in relief. Sherlock grabbed her gently, forcing her to her feet and they retreated from the area before anything else could go wrong. In the alley outside the building, they finally spoke.

“What happened, Sherlock? What was that?”

“Someone changed her mind. The question is who?”

“I’m glad it’s over. Though I guess only for now.”

“Yes, but…” Sherlock paused, unsure of how to phrase her next thought. “You’re okay.”

“And you as well.”

“Jane, if I had lost you, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Pretty sure she was going to kill both of us, mate.”

“No, but, seeing you there in that coat, helpless…”

Sherlock turned to her and softly placed her hand on her shoulder. Something took over and soon, she found herself leaning into Jane’s face and planting a chaste kiss on her lips. Instead of pulling back or pushing Sherlock away, Jane closed her eyes and let it happen. They were motionless for a moment or so until Sherlock kissed her again, this time using much more mouth. She closed her eyes and brushed her hands to the back of Jane’s head and through her hair. Jane moaned.

When it was over, they looked at each other and Sherlock lowered her arms to her sides. A million thoughts ran through her head.

Jane smiled and grabbed Sherlock’s hand. The thoughts stopped.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips” – Girl in Red, _I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend_


	3. A Scandal in Belgravia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!” Jane shrieked incredulously._
> 
> _“_ At _her," Irene corrected. "She never replies.”_
> 
> _“But Sherlock always replies.”_
> 
> _“Does that make me special?”_
> 
> _“I…dunno. Maybe.”_
> 
> _“Are you jealous?”_
> 
> _“We’re not a couple.”_
> 
> _“Yes, you are.”_
> 
> _Jane was so sick of the insinuations since the day she met Sherlock. It was absolutely exhausting. “I don’t know about Sherlock Holmes, but if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay!” she cried._
> 
> _“Well, I am,” Irene smirked._
> 
> Naked women galore and Jane is convinced she's straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Irene Adler is still a woman. It made sense to me to keep Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, and Irene all women. I hate that haven't used Molly much in this story, I love her but I hate the way Sherlock always hurts her feelings. Maybe in a later chapter.

They were snogging before they were even up the stairs. Somehow, they made it up to the main room of their flat without removing themselves from each other. Soon they were on the sofa; clothes and shoes were strewn around the floor and furniture.

Warmth reached every inch of Jane’s body. From the sides of her face where Sherlock was holding her tightly to the pit of her stomach, then lower to parts of her body that she wished she would use. Truthfully, Jane had never been with a woman but based on what she already knew about Sherlock and the way her kisses switched back and forth from short, unsure pecks to long, wet smooches, Jane guessed that she hadn’t either. It was comforting to know that they would try something new together. Jane wanted to do everything new with Sherlock.

After some time, Sherlock stopped and looked at her with those bright blueish grey eyes. “Aren’t you with Sam?” she said in that low, sexy voice she had.

 _No, don’t ruin the mood with this_ , Jane begged in her head. “I can dump him,” she stated while trying to find Sherlock’s mouth again.

“When?” Sherlock dodged.

“I dunno, when we’re done?”

“Done what?”

“Doing this currently, Sherlock.”

“When will we be done?”

Maybe Sherlock knew less about being with someone than Jane predicted.

“I dunno, when one of us says goodnight?”

Jane grabbed Sherlock’s cheek and pecked her on the right corner of her lip where her cute dimple was. She couldn’t remember how long she had imagined herself wanting to kiss there. Sherlock’s breath was heavy and it only turned Jane on more. Gradually, Jane’s hand moved down to Sherlock’s chest. She rubbed her breast softly and moved in for another snog.

Sherlock sniffed and rose herself off the couch. Jane sat stupidly in shock.

“Erm,” Sherlock muttered. “Goodnight.”

She hurried to her bedroom and shut the door leaving Jane quite confused and titillated.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Weeks then a month passed and neither woman had brought up the night at the pool (or what happened afterward) to each other. Whatever had happened, even Jane’s feelings on it had all faded. She didn’t know what had come over her that night, probably just adrenaline from nearly dying. She didn’t really have real feelings for Sherlock and she assumed it was the same for Sherlock. They both fell into work instead. It was business as usual for them, Sherlock solving case after case and Jane blogging their adventures for strangers on the internet to enjoy.

Slowly over the course of the month, Sherlock had gotten picky about her choice in cases. Several potential clients visited Baker Street with stories that Jane found to be interesting but Sherlock shooed them all away, dismissing them as boring.

Finally, a mysterious death without a murder weapon and a witness who swore there was no murderer to be seen was enough for Sherlock to send Jane to investigate. Just Jane. And the doctor was not amused by the style of investigation the detective chose. Jane found herself dragging a laptop around the crime scene, speaking to the screen in a video call. Sherlock was relaxed at home, wrapped in a sheet as if she had just got out of bed.

During their call, Sherlock was abducted by a couple of men in suits. Jane shook her head as if she expected Sherlock to just be kidnapped one day. Then, as she closed the laptop to leave and save her friend, she was escorted to a helicopter by some other men dressed in similar suits.

They were in Buckingham Palace before Jane could bitch anyone out. Puzzled, she spotted Sherlock on a loveseat, still wrapped up in her sheet so she sat next to her. Jane looked around the magnificent room both admiring the scenery and regretting that she was there dressed the way she was. It wasn’t that Jane liked being dressed up but she would at least be in a nice blouse and skirt, not day-old jeans after a night out with friends. She glanced at Sherlock and noticed there was too much skin-color seeping through the thin sheet.

“Are you wearing any knickers?” she asked her awkwardly.

“No.”

Well, a dirty flannel could be much worse, Jane could be naked in Buckingham Palace like Sherlock. “Okay.”

They both burst into laughter. They were giggling like idiots. After a moment, Jane wiped tears from her eyes.

“What are we doing here, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know,” she grinned.

“Here to see the Queen?”

They fell into giggles again when Mycroft entered the room and gave a sour look.

“Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?”

“We solve crimes, I blog about it and she forgets her knickers, so I wouldn’t hold out on it.”

“I was in the middle of a case,” Sherlock laments.

“What, the hiker and the backfire?” Mycroft chuckled. “I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, sure?”

“Transparent.”

Jane hated it when they did this. It was not obvious, or at least not without them explaining which piece of evidence they focused on to make their deduction. Whatever, it didn’t matter now that they were about to get the case of a lifetime from the Queen of England herself.

Mycroft picked up some clothing from the table in front of them and handed the bundle to Sherlock. “We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your dress on.”

“What for?”

“Your client.”

“And my client is?”

Another man entered suddenly and spoke, “Illustrious…”

Sherlock and Jane stood up in respect.

“In the extreme,” he continued, “And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.”

“May I apologize for the state of my little sister?”

The man turned out to be Harry Equerry, an old friend of Mycroft’s and a trusted assistant to Her Majesty Elizabeth II.

“Ms. Holmes, you look taller in your photographs,” Equerry mused.

If she was offended, Jane couldn’t tell because Sherlock shot back with, “I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.”

Sherlock still hadn't accepted the clothes from her brother. Mycroft stared daggers into her.

“This is a matter of national importance,” he said sternly. “Grow up!”

Mycroft stood on Sherlock’s sheet now. Jane knew what would happen and she rolled her eyes and bit her lip. _Please, just let it happen quickly so the pain of embarrassment is swift_.

Sherlock pulled hard to walk away and sure enough, her sheet fell to her waist. Sherlock’s bare breasts and arse were hanging out in the middle of Buckingham Palace. Thankfully, she pulled the sheet back over herself and resigned. Mycroft handed her the clothing.

After she was decent, Sherlock sat back down with Jane on the sofa. Mycroft played ‘mother’ to the tea and served each of them. Jane sipped excitedly from her cup. How often does one have tea at the Palace? She frowned at the taste, perhaps it needed a little more sugar. Sherlock shot her a look of judgment but Jane ignored her.

“What do you know about this woman?” Mycroft asked, handing a photograph to Sherlock.

Jane peeked over her shoulder and saw an attractive woman. Her lips were blood red. Jane noted how well it looked compared to the woman’s pale skin. Those red lips froze in Jane’s memory.

“Nothing whatsoever,” Sherlock said, giving no mind to the beautiful woman in the photo.

“Then you should be paying more attention,” Mycroft mentioned. “She’s been at the center of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up in interest.

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia,” Sherlock replied. “Who is she?”

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.”

“Professionally?” Jane queried.

“There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix.’”

Jane nodded in understanding. Sherlock, though, seemed eluded.

“Dominatrix?” she whispered.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Mycroft smirked, “It’s to do with sex.”

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.”

Mycroft snickered. “How would you know?”

Subconsciously Jane’s sight bounced between Sherlock and Mycroft. Consciously, her cheeks went pink with shame. She had been correct in guessing that Sherlock didn’t have experience with a woman, or with anyone. What a mistake Jane had made, allowing herself to snog the woman and then attempt to touch her so seductively. Now Mycroft was going to see it on her face, the man was as good as deducing secrets as his sister. Jane was done for, what kinds of things would he do to her if he knew what she did to Sherlock?

And certainly, Mycroft noticed. He glanced at Jane, rolled his eyes, and sighed, “Oh, you. Of course.”

Jane cleared her throat.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Much later, after Mycroft arranged the case and what would be needed, Jane and Sherlock were in a taxi on their way to confront Irene Adler. Sherlock directed the driver to stop and she led Jane to an alleyway. “We need a splash of color,” she mentioned to Jane. She pointed to her cheek and bent slightly so she could be at the proper level.

“Punch you?” Jane groaned with disgust.

“Yes, punch me in the face!”

“No, Sherlock, I can’t do that. We live together, it’s considered domestic abuse. Can you imagine the talk?” Jane’s voice got higher as to imitate someone else speaking, “Did you ‘ear, Sherlock ‘Olmes gets thrashed around by ‘er army doctor flatmate. Ooh, that geezer bird? But she’s so much smaller than ‘er what damage can she do?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Sherlock’s fist landed on Jane’s face and knocked her over into the pavement.

Jane wailed with pain but recovered and sent a punch to Sherlock, striking her in the left cheek.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

“Right, this should do it,” Jane said as she walked into the foyer of Irene Adler’s home. She carried a bowl of first aid supplies and a clean cloth to treat the scrape she had given Sherlock.

When she looked up from the bowl, she saw a naked woman standing very close to Sherlock, who was leaning back on the sofa. Jane froze in what felt like embarrassment but she wasn’t sure. Sherlock was trying to get intimate in the middle of a case with their mark. No, this wasn’t embarrassment, it was disappointment. Disgust.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” she spat.

“Please, sit down,” the naked woman said. “Or if you would like some tea, I can call the maid.”

Sherlock frowned. “I had some at the Palace.”

“I know.”

“Clearly.”

The naked woman sat down in a fancy armchair and stared at Sherlock with fascination. She stared back but with what Jane assumed to be curiosity, possibly deducing the woman.

“I had tea, too, at the Palace,” Jane said, hoping to interrupt the looks the other women were giving each other. “If anyone’s interested.”

“Hmm, somebody loves you,” Adler cooed, leaning in toward Sherlock but leering directly at Jane. “If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.”

Jane scoffed. She didn’t love Sherlock. Jane’s feelings for that woman all ended that night after meeting Moriarty. They were strictly friends, strictly platonic. “Could you put something on, please?” Jane snapped at Adler. “Er, anything at all. A napkin?”

“Why? Are you feeling exposed?”

“I don’t think Jane knows where to look,” Sherlock said out of nowhere.

_You’re going to insult me about sex now?_

“No, I think she knows exactly where,” Adler replied. She stood up and faced Jane but Jane kept her eyes on Adler’s, never turning down to her bosom. “I’m not sure about you.”

_Exactly!_

Sherlock handed Adler her favorite coat and the woman wrapped her small frame in it and sat down. They spoke of the murder case from early that morning. Sherlock bragged that she knew where the photographs were hidden. She then sent Jane out into the hallway to set off the smoke detector.

That’s when the men with guns broke in.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

“Vatican cameos!” Sherlock warned before opening the safe.  
  
Jane ducked for cover as a bullet flew and shot the American who was holding the gun to her head. When the other two were distracted, Sherlock pistol-whipped the men’s leader and Adler disarmed the remaining one with an elbow and shoulder to the crotch. Jane was impressed, especially when Irene also knocked him out with the end of his own gun.

“Thank you!” Adler sang. “You were very observant.”

“Observant?” Jane wondered aloud.

“I’m flattered.”

“Flattered?”

“Don’t be,” Sherlock grunted.

Jane’s eyebrows rose in a quizzical glance so Irene leaned in and whispered to her. “My measurements.”

Sherlock would have only known that if she directly looked at the woman while she was naked. Jane couldn't hide her dismay.

“Check the rest of the house to see how they got in,” Sherlock instructed Jane.

Jane ran upstairs where she knew the men had come from earlier. On the floor in the bedroom was Miss Adler’s maid, assistant person out cold. Jane checked her pulse.

“Sherlock!” she cried.

Sherlock and Irene caught up and entered the room. They both looked around with Adler not seeming to care very much that her employee was injured. Jane then noticed Sherlock was acting strange. There was a syringe on the ground.

“What did you give her?! Sherlock!” Jane shouted.

Sherlock passed out. Adler retreated. And Jane was left with having to get home before the police arrived.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

It was the next morning when the text messages started arriving. Jane and Sherlock were having Mycroft at breakfast, though he didn’t stop to nosh. He only wanted an update on the photographs from Irene Adler. Sherlock assured her brother that the photos were safe on Adler’s person because she only wanted them as protection. For what Jane wasn’t sure. Her reputation, maybe, or perhaps her lifestyle. It probably wasn’t easy keeping up sexual liaisons with royalty.

It was then Sherlock’s phone chimed with the sound of a woman passionately moaning through climax.

“What was that?” Jane asked, eyes wide.

“Text,” Sherlock responded casually.

“But what was that noise?”

Sherlock ignored her question and finished the conversation with Mycroft about Irene Adler. The same noise went off again, making Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft very uncomfortable and Jane suspicious. Mycroft left the room and Jane asked again.

“Why does your phone make that noise?”

“What noise?”

“That noise, the one it just made.”

“It’s a text alert.”

“It doesn’t make that noise for every text.”

“Someone must have got hold of my phone and changed their personal alert as a joke.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Where do you get that idea?”

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

By Christmas, Jane had counted fifty-six of those texts. It was at a small gathering in the flat when the fifty-seventh had come in. Everyone was drinking and laughing, enjoying the holiday, except Sherlock who had a horrible time and took it out on Jane’s date, Jacob. She pretended to not remember his name or any personal information about him. Jane knew it was a pass at her for how many boyfriends she had gone through in such a short amount of time. Since her mistaken, adrenaline-filled _encounter_ with Sherlock.

Without verbal admittance, Jane knew the text messages were coming from Irene Adler. She had known the second the first one came through. It was the noise. That inappropriate sexual racket. Adler couldn’t really think that something like that could entice Sherlock. What would they even text about?

Sherlock had gone off alone to make a phone call and returned with sorrow on her face. Later she left the party and Jane got a ring from Mycroft explaining the situation. Jane was slightly despondent by the news, if not just for her friend but for the poor woman who succumbed to a terrorist group in some foreign country.

Irene Adler was dead.

Mycroft asked Jane and Mrs. Hudson to search the flat for drugs, any secret stash Sherlock may have for safekeeping. They found nothing. Jacob stuck around, sitting bored on his phone, pretending that all this focus on Sherlock wasn’t bothering him. When Mycroft asked Jane to not go to her sister’s and stay home, Jacob resorted to insults and name-calling.

“I can’t compete with this woman,” Jacob snaps, outraged. “I ignored my friends when they said you were too…manly. I told them it was okay because I liked a girl I could play rugby with and then go home with. I see the way you dote on her. I tried to pretend.”

“Get out right now!” Jane screamed. Mrs. Hudson jumped but Jane didn’t care.

Jane steeped in anger. _I’m not a lesbian._

“Hope you didn’t mess up my hose index,” Sherlock growled when she got home fifteen minutes later.

Jane didn’t care that she went through the woman’s underclothes, she did it to make sure Sherlock didn’t kill herself on any narcotics.

“Are you okay?” she asked but immediately dejected. _Of course, she’s not okay._

Sherlock didn’t answer and went straight to her room and shut the door, the second time Jane had ever caused her to do so.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Two days later Jane finally left the flat, leaving Sherlock in the care of Mrs. Hudson for a while. She was only going to stop at Tesco for beans and milk but even that tiny errand would be enough time in the outside world for her.

If only took thirty seconds for her to be kidnapped. _Why did this keep happening?_

The black sedan dredged alone melted snow and wet asphalt throughout the city. Jane was impatient and hoped Mycroft was done with this and knew to just phone. They stopped at an abandoned warehouse, just as Jane had experienced a handful of times before. How many abandoned warehouses were in London? Maybe she needed to start paying attention to the economic news in the papers.

She was led down a long corridor so Jane called out to Mycroft while she made her way to him.

“She’s writing sad music; doesn’t eat; barely talks,” she said in reference to Sherlock. “I’d say she was heartbroken but, er, well, she’s Sherlock. She does all that anyway.”

“Hello, Dr. Watson,” said Irene Adler with her scarlet lips and very, not-dead body.

She was two meters away but was quite real. Jane stood silently, unsure how exactly to react. Then it came to her.

“Tell her you’re alive,” she pled shakily.

“She’ll come after me if I do,” Irene declined, shaking her head.

“I’ll come after you if you don’t,” Jane sobbed. Hot tears were falling down her face in anger.

“Mmm, I believe you.”

“You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you.”

“I needed to disappear.”

“Then how come I can see you, and I don’t even want to?”

“Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe-keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.”

“No.” Jane was a sniveling mess. How dare she? How _dare_ she?

“It’s for her own safety.”

“So’s (sob) this (sob): tell her you’re (gasp) alive.”

“What do I say?” Irene’s gaze softened. _Don’t pity me_ Jane thought, wiping snot with sleeve.

“What do you usually say?”

“Good morning,” Irene read from her mobile. “I like your funny hat. I’m sad tonight. Let’s have dinner. You looked sexy on ‘Crimewatch.’ Let’s have dinner. I’m not hungry but let’s have _dinner_.”

Jane’s tears were gone and her breath was no longer heavy but silent, almost stopped altogether.

“You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?!” she shrieked incredulously.

“ _At_ her. She never replies.”

“But Sherlock always replies.”

“Does that make me special?”

“I…dunno. Maybe.”

“Are you jealous?”

“We’re not a couple.”

“Yes, you are.”

Jane was so sick of the insinuations since the day she met Sherlock. It was absolutely exhausting. Nobody even knows she kissed her! “I don’t know about Sherlock Holmes, but if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay!” she cried.

“Well, I am,” Irene smirked.

Irene thumbed at her phone then held it up for Jane to see.

“There, ‘I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.’ Happy?”

She clicked send. Then a sound rang out. That goddamn moan.

_Fuck, Sherlock. I’m so sorry._

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

In Speedy’s a week later, Jane heard from Mycroft that Irene Adler was dead _for real_.

She couldn’t bring herself to give the news to Sherlock and Mycroft insisted that they not have to worry about his sister in a repeat of the last week. The story they decided on was about a witness protection program in America. When Jane conveyed it, Sherlock accepted the lie without quarrel.

“You don’t have to be jealous of her,” Sherlock breathed.

“I never…” Jane started to refute but Sherlock stopped her.

“It’s okay. I’m not judging, I’m just helping. You don’t have to be jealous of her anymore.”

“Because she’s dead?” Jane whispered, giving up the secret.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don't say I'm not your type, just say that I'm not your preferred sexual orientation” – Billie Eilish, _Wish You Were Gay_


	4. The Reichenbach Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sherlock,” she gasped, “I don’t want the world believing you’re…”_
> 
> _“That I’m what?”_
> 
> _“A fraud,” Jane said sadly._
> 
> _“Why? Because they might be right?” Sherlock suddenly turned cold, Jane shivered._
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _“You think they’re right about me.”_
> 
> _“No.”_
> 
> _“Moriarty is playing with your mind, too," Sherlock was almost manic. She screamed as spit flew. "Can’t you see what’s going on?”_
> 
> _“No, I know you’re for real," Jane spoke earnestly. She understood now what Sherlock was doing. It was unnecessary but she sympathized. Sherlock needed to know Jane was on her side._
> 
> _“A hundred percent?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed._
> 
> _“Nobody could fake being such an annoying bitch all the time," Jane rescinded._
> 
>   
> Moriarty tries to push Sherlock to suicide by making everyone she cares about turn on her. What Moriarty didn't expect was love getting in the way.

Jane was numb and could only bring herself to speak when the therapist sitting in front of her spoke first.

"Why did you see me today?" the therapist said. "It's been eighteen months since our last appointment.

"Do you read the papers or watch the telly? You know why I'm here."

"What happened, Jane?"

"I'm here because...Sher..."

"You need to get it out."

"My girlfriend, Sherlock Holmes," Jane whispered, "is dead."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

It was at three months before the therapist appointment where the story started, Jane decided. The day that Moriarty's conviction came in.

“Not guilty!” Jane cried in disbelief. “They found her not guilty. No defense and Moriarty’s walked free.”

On the other side of the phone, Sherlock was still quiet. They hadn't really spoken more than a few words to each other outside of their cases since the night Sherlock admitted her feelings to Jane. Jane had told her that she was straight and didn't feel the same for her. Sherlock had been silent since. She spoke to Jane through Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade. Jane was getting sick of it, she just wanted her friend back.

“Are you listening?" Jane said to push Sherlock to say something. "She’s out. You…you know she’ll be coming after you.”

The phone call ended abruptly and Jane sighed.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code," Jess Moriarty boasted as she sat in Jane's armchair in the 221B Baker Street flat. Sherlock watched her closely, doing her best not to show any emotion and let Moriarty read her. "No such thing as a private bank account now, they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy. I _own_ secrecy. Nuclear codes? I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is queen; and honey, you should _see_ me in a crown."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

"She was here? In our flat?!" Jane roared. "Something could have happened to you, Sherlock. I..."

She stood over Sherlock, who was perched in her armchair. Sherlock's cyan eyes looked up at her. Jane leaned in and kissed her.

"I know I said that I don't feel anything romantic for you," she said after she removed her lips from Sherlock's, "but I lied."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Two months later, Jane was trying to withdraw money from an ATM when a black car came for her. Mycroft had Anthea sneak her into the back of a men’s club that had strict rules on women and speaking. Jane thought it was archaic and detestable but Mycroft waved it off as tradition. That’s when she spotted a copy of _The Sun_ on his desk and she grabbed it and shoved it in his face.

“Is this traditional, too?” she asked him sarcastically.

“It caught my eye.”

Jane took a seat even though she knew she shouldn’t, it would only extend her time with him. She understood why Sherlock held contempt for her brother, he was a tosser.

“They’re doing a big expose.”

The paper read various incorrect things about Sherlock, stuff that would entertain gossips but nauseated Jane. She had always been defensive of Sherlock but after they had made their relationship official, the will to protect her public image became a full-time job, literally. Her blog had climbed in popularity that she had many sponsorships and started gaining ad revenue.

“I’d love to know where they got this information,” she mentioned.

“Someone named Brook,” Mycroft smirked. “Recognize the name?”

“School friend or something?”

Mycroft laughed. Jane hated that shite. _Just bloody tell me._ Whatever it was, he decided it wasn’t as important as the actual reason he called Jane there. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“Four top international assassins relocated to within spitting distance of 221B. Anything you’d like to share with me?”

“I’m moving?” Jane joked, growing tired of seeing Mycroft’s idiot face. “You think this is Moriarty but I assure you, if it was, we’d be dead already.”

“If not Moriarty then who?”

“Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned?”

Mycroft shifted his eyes and made a frown. Jane hated that the Holmes siblings played these childish games with each other but to be honest, the history she had with Harry was no different. She had no place to talk but she would anyway.

“Don’t tell me…” she scoffed.

“It’s just too much history between us, Jane. Old scores and resentments.” He thumbed at a bauble on his desk. He was noticeably upset about something but Jane wasn't the one to deduce so she couldn't even begin to bring herself to guess. She taunted him about his sibling rivalry with his sister instead. 

“Nicked all her Smurfs? Broke her Barbie doll?”

Mycroft scowled. Jane laughed.

“You’re a prat. I’m finished.” Jane turned to leave the room, she even considered walking out the front door and scandalizing the sexist sods of the Diogenes Club.

“We both know what’s coming, Jane. Moriarty is obsessed and sworn to destroy her only adversary.”

“So, I’m supposed to watch out for your sister because she won’t accept your help?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he managed a smile before he pulled an angry face at her. “You are sleeping with her after all.”

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Greg had just come to the flat and asked Sherlock to go down to the Yard and answer some questions. Jane was beside herself, trying to figure out what was going to happen next. Sherlock seemed so calm at this moment. Jane only wished it could comfort her. It should have, just leave all the doubt and worry to her girlfriend. But after the conversation with Mycroft, after one of the assassins got gunned down in front of them, after the discovery of the hidden camera, after the police turned on Sherlock, it was too much for Jane.

She stared out the window, watching Greg leave, the tears would be coming soon and she didn’t think she’d be able to stop them.

“They’ll be deciding,” Sherlock said, breaking the silence.

“Deciding?” The word barely escaped Jane’s mouth. A sickly feeling came over her, she was going to cry.

“Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.”

“You should have gone with him. People’ll think…” The tears fell heavy and hot down her face.

“I don’t care what people think.” Sherlock stood up from the desk and moved over to Jane and grabbed her hands.

Jane gasped through a sob, “I don’t want the world believing you’re…”

Sherlock kissed her and rubbed the tears from her face. They embraced for several minutes as Jane calmed down. Sherlock’s eyes stared her down gently.

“That I’m what, love?”

“A fraud,” Jane said sadly into Sherlock’s chest.

“Why? Because they might be right?” Sherlock suddenly turned cold, Jane shivered. 

“What?”

“You think they’re right about me.” 

“No.”

“Moriarty is playing with your mind, too!" Sherlock screamed. She was almost manic. "Can’t you see what’s going on?” 

“No, I know you’re for real," Jane spoke earnestly. She understood what Sherlock was doing. It was unnecessary but she sympathized. Sherlock needed to know Jane was on her side.

“A hundred percent?" Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed.

“Nobody could fake being such an annoying bitch all the time," Jane rescinded.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, kissing Jane on the cheek.

"What? You never apologize."

"But I have to." She kissed her on the forehead.

"True."

When Sherlock moved to kiss her again, Jane turned up and met her lips.

"I love you," Jane said through the kiss.

Sherlock deepened their kisses and slid her hands down Jane's back.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Sherlock raised herself from the sofa and started collecting her clothes from the floor.

"Which do you prefer?" she asked from underneath the chemise she was shimmying into. "When I perform it or when you do?"

"It?" a naked Jane queried.

"Cunninglingus."

"Oh," she giggled. "Is it selfish to say when you do it?"

"Perhaps not, it's only natural."

Jane's mobile rang. Sherlock went to the loo and pulled her tangled-from-sex curls into a bun. She quickly used the toilet and washed up in the sink.

"So, still got _some_ friends on the Force," Jane said as she barged into the tiny bathroom. She started her clean up routine as Sherlock returned to the common area. "It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."

Sherlock threw Jane her knickers and trousers then went to look for some shoes that were easy to run in.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Like overkill, _two_ officers slammed Jane against the police car where Sherlock was already leaning face-first into as another officer was handcuffing her.

"Joining me then?" Sherlock said observing that the officers cuffed the two women to each other. It was a rather large mistake on their part.

"Yeah. Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent?" Jane chuckled.

"Bit awkward, this," Sherlock noted as she watched the other officers march away, leaving her and Jane with only one guard.

"No one to bail us."

"I meant our imminent and daring escape."

"What?"

Sherlock grabbed the radio inside the car with her free hand and pressed the button. The earpiece worn by the officer guarding them screeched and he flinched in pain. She snatched his pistol and pointed it in the general direction of the many officers on the street around them.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she cried, pulling Jane closer to her. "To your knees, please!"

"Do as she says," Sherlock heard Lestrade say from somewhere in the crowd.

"This is all a misunderstanding, Sherlock you can..." Jane shouted but Sherlock cut her off.

"She is my hostage!" she said, now aiming the gun at Jane. She would pay for that later.

They ran.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Jane was climbing out of the cab and Sherlock’s phone was already ringing her.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?” Jane asked hurriedly.

From the ledge on the rooftop of Bart’s, Sherlock watched her running towards the building.

“Turn around and walk back the way you came,” Sherlock warned sternly.

“No, I’m coming in.”

“Just do as I ask!” she begged. Her voice was cracking. “Please.”

“Where?” Jane obeyed.

“Stop there. Okay, look up.”

She could see Jane’s small figure down on the street but couldn’t make out her face. Sherlock longed to see those lips again. To kiss them again.

“I…I…I can’t come down so we’ll just have to talk like this,” Sherlock sobbed.

“What…?”

“It’s an apology, a confession. It’s all true, everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.”

“Why are you saying this?”

Sherlock whimpered. “I’m a fake. What they wrote in _The Sun_ was right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson and even Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“Shut up, okay? The first time we met you knew all about my sister, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.”

A tear rolled down Sherlock’s cheek but she laughed anyway. The tear fell from her chin and fell down to the pavement where she knew she was going to be very soon.

“I researched you,” she managed to croak through her tears. “Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. You were so beautiful and yet so vulnerable with your limp and your PTSD. I knew I wanted you and I knew I could trick you.”

“No. Stop it now.” Jane took a few steps forward.

“No, stay exactly where you are! Don’t move.”

“Alright.” She went backward and held her hand up with resignation.

Sherlock breathed hard and was blubbering something mad. “Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?”

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“This phone call it’s, er, it’s my note. It’s what people do, leave a note.”

“Nope. Don’t do it. In front of me? With me watching?”

“Goodbye, Jane.”

“Sherlock!” Jane screamed from below, loud enough that Sherlock could hear her clearly.

She dropped her mobile, not minding where it fell, put her arms out in a T-pose, and jumped.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Sherlock watched as Mrs. Hudson left a broken Jane standing at her grave. It was the first time Sherlock ever saw her girlfriend in an adequate dress though the blonde woman looked awkward and uncomfortable in it. The crying didn’t help any. The first time Jane ever attempted a proper look with her makeup and it was running down her face in an awful mess. Sherlock was mesmerized anyway and crept as close to her as she possibly could without being spotted. She needed to hear what Jane was going to say.

“Don’t be dead,” Jane quivered. “Would do you do that for me? Stop this.”

She put her hand on the headstone for a fleeting second and then walked away.

Sherlock lowered her head and made her own retreat shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “With you, I serve, with you I fall down. Watch you breathe in, watch you breathin’ out. Something med school did not cover.” – Taylor Swift, _Epiphany_


	5. The Empty Hearse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And what of my darling Jane?” Sherlock asked Mycroft._
> 
> _“I’ve kept eyes on her but we don’t talk," he explained. "Haven’t you been in touch yet? She thinks you’re dead.”_
> 
> _“No, but I’m going to surprise her. She’ll love it!”_
> 
> _“You think so?” Mycroft knew it would be a disaster if Sherlock did that. His sister was never one for basic human reaction._
> 
> _“I’ll pop in Baker Street. Maybe jump out of a cake...starkers.”_
> 
> _He frowned. “I’m going to ignore that last part. Sherlock, Jane isn’t at Baker Street anymore.”_
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _“It’s been two years. She thinks you died. She got on with life.”_
> 
> _“But what life does she have without me?”_
> 
> _“Oh, sister dear…” For a genius, Sherlock sure was an idiot._
> 
> Sherlock is back but Jane has moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, this chapter includes POVs from a couple of characters who are not Sherlock or Jane. Sorry it's so short.

It had been two years since Mycroft's sister had step foot in London. He had found and rescued her in Serbia. Though, to be quite honest, she was doing very well for herself and hadn't needed help. Mycroft hadn't been much help anyway, he would admit that he was just sitting there as she was tortured. He only placed himself in the situation once he could reveal his disguise and inform Sherlock that her assistance was needed by the British Government.

“And what of my darling Jane Watson?” Sherlock asked him once they were in Mycroft's office in the Diogenes Club.

Anthea, who was there dressing and grooming Sherlock, shot Mycroft a look.

“Jane?” Mycroft clarified.

“Yes," Sherlock said with a huff. "Have you seen her recently?”

“Oh, yes, we go out for fish and chips every Friday." He immediately felt guilty for being sarcastic with her. He understood the importance to Sherlock and the relationship she held with the doctor.

“Mycroft…”

“I’ve kept eyes on her but we don’t talk," he saved. "Haven’t you been in touch yet? She thinks you’re dead.”

“No, but I’m going to surprise her. She’ll love it!”

“You think so?” Mycroft knew it would be a disaster if Sherlock did that. His sister was never one for basic human reaction.

“I’ll pop in Baker Street. Maybe jump out of a cake...starkers.”

He frowned. “I’m going to ignore that last part. Sherlock, Jane isn’t at Baker Street anymore.”

“What?”

“It’s been two years. She thinks you died. She got on with life.” _Get a clue_.

“But what life does she have without me?”

“Oh, sister dear…” For a genius, Sherlock sure was an idiot.

They stood there staring at each other in a challenge. Mycroft could always just explain to Sherlock, in detail, about grief, mourning periods and the psychology of ordinary people but he also knew that she wouldn't listen. Sherlock didn't care about ordinary interactions. They were boring to her. What could he do? He wasn't going to waste energy on convincing her that Jane Watson would probably be better off without the detective.

“Where will she be tonight?” Sherlock said, breaking the impasse.

“Am I supposed to know?” Mycroft stalled.

“You always know.”

“She has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. _Romantic_ spot.” He hoped Sherlock would pick up on that description.

“I think maybe I’ll drop by.”

“It could be possible that you won’t be welcome.” 

Sherlock appeared puzzled. She finally caught on the hints that Mycroft had dropped.

“You know, by her date?” he added.

“Date? Are you implying that my Jane is cheating on me, Mycroft?”

He reached for his forehead and scratched it with his ring finger. “Sherlock, she thinks you are dead.”

“Who are they?” Sherlock yelped.

“Who?”

Sherlock bellowed, “You know quite well, who! The fool who has taken Jane from me."

“You’re _dead_!” Mycroft shouted back. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “He is a nurse employed at Jane’s surgery. They have been seeing each other for six months. He was picked up by my surveillance last week purchasing a diamond engagement ring.”

Anthea placed Sherlock's favorite coat over her black dress suit. Sherlock pondered the information that Mycroft had just given her quietly.

The next thing Sherlock said, Mycroft could not make out completely. The utterance was either about the coat or the nurse, there was no certainty. It was brief but deep and forceful. Mycroft decided it could have been interpreted one of two ways: "blud" or "blood."

**MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM**

Mark didn’t want to escape to the lavatory for as long as he did. He was nervous. Was his hair pressed down, was his tie straight, there was nothing in his teeth? He stared at himself in the mirror checking for imperfections and whispering affirmations. It’s just dinner. It’s just a question. _It’s just the rest of your life._

He wound through the restaurant at a steady speed but in his mind, he was still hindering his return to the table. The stairs coming down were going to be an obstacle for him and his weak knees. Mark couldn’t remember a time when he was this skittish about something. In his line of work, one can’t be jumpy or on edge.

That was when he saw her. It was a rare treat to see his girlfriend in formal attire but she sure did clean up well. He admired her from afar, thanking himself silently for suggesting such a fancy place for their meet up. Her usually straight blonde hair fell in waves down her shoulders. The pale pink dress she wore hugged her curves in a way that was acceptable for both her age and Mark’s taste. There was even a tiny show of cleavage.

“Sorry that took so long,” he told his date. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied with a huge grin. “More wine?”

“No, I’m okay with just water, thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Darling, will you marry me?”

Her eyes got watery but Mark simply smiled.

“Mark, I know it hasn’t been long and I know we haven’t known each other for a long time,” she struggled as she started to choke up.

“Go on,” Mark said, it started to feel like she was going to decline him but he knew she just needed to get it all out.

“These last couple of years haven’t been easy for me and meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.”

Mark sighed with relief. This was not a rejection.

“So, to answer your question, I…”

“Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers,” a waitress interrupted suddenly, “one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend. Hello, Jane Watson.”

Jane was frozen in a stupor, her mouth started to fall open in shock. Mark stood up, ready to act in case she was going to have a medical emergency.

“What’s going on? How do you know her?” he cried.

The waitress was even taller than Mark, he noticed, she had on a smart outfit, too nice for the staff at the restaurant. Her face was so familiar, those eyes…

Jane sputtered out of her daze, “Not dead.”

“Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will,” the impostor waitress said.

“No! You’re her!” Mark cried in disbelief.

“Oh, yes,” said Sherlock Holmes.

“Oh, my God.”

“Not quite.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her?”

“Okay, Jane, I’m realizing I probably owe you some sort of apology,” Sherlock said to Jane.

Over the small hum of the other diners in the restaurant came a sharp crack as Jane’s hand met Sherlock’s face. Every head turned to them in surprise. The host approached them and Mark was already on damage control, apologizing profusely. They were asked to leave and Mark managed to drag the fraught Jane and the wounded Sherlock out without more of a disruptive scene.

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock said to Mark, rubbing the deep red handprint on her face. “I said I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“Gosh, you don’t know anything about human nature, do you?” he replied.

“Erm, nature? No. Human? Also no.”

"It's Mark, by the way," he said, extending his hand for Sherlock to shake. "Mark Morstan."

"A pleasure," Sherlock without taking his hand. She simply gave a half-smile and kept her eyes on Jane.

Mark nodded and Jane returned from hailing a taxi. She purposely avoided Sherlock’s eyes but Sherlock tried her best to smile through her bitch-slapped pain. The couple loaded into the cab and Sherlock waved a sad goodbye as they drove off.

“Can you believe her nerve?” Jane grunted while dabbing her running mascara with a handkerchief.

“I like her,” Mark lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Life tends to come and go and well that's okay as long as you know, I won't share you." - The Smiths, _I Won't Share You_


	6. The Sign of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“This is the biggest and most important day of my life. I want to be up there with the two people that I love and care about most in the world," Jane said, looking at Sherlock expectantly._
> 
> _“Yes. Mark Morstan and…”_
> 
> _“You.”_
> 
> _“You mean I’m your best friend?”_
> 
> _“Yeah, ‘course you are.”_
> 
> _“But, Jane, we’ve dated.”_
> 
> _“Look, we were together for two months before we broke up. But we were mates long before all that.”_
> 
> _“We didn’t really break up, you know.”_
> 
> _“You basically ghosted me. For two years. I can take a hint.”_
> 
> It's Jane and Mark's wedding day and Sherlock is taking it pretty well, despite what other people might think.

Sherlock’s bridesmaid dress was itchy and even though she had it tailored no fewer than five times, it was still tight around her large bust. The only redeemable part about it was that Jane agreed to go with the lilac color that Sherlock chose. It looked amazing on her, anyway, or at least Jane had told her while they got ready at the church before the ceremony. It helped that Sherlock’s usually wild curls had been tamed by a hairdresser into soft ringlets held up by a dozen Kirby grips.

The ceremony was over but there was still much more wedding to go on. Sherlock tried her best to stay interested, reminding herself of the schedule. After the ceremony would be portraits, then greeting guests into the reception hall, and then dinner. Sherlock still fretted about having to do her chief bridesmaid speech.

“I had to lose so much weight to get into this dress,” Jane mentioned, grabbing an hors d’oeuvre and stuffing it into her mouth. “I’m just starving now.”

Sherlock watched her devour the food. There was something about Jane’s mouth that always intrigued her. But Sherlock was interrupted in her thoughts by Jack, Mark’s best man, who had been hovering over her the whole day. He seemed to want to bond with her despite her obvious disinterest in him.

“She’s nice,” he said, pointing at one of the waitresses who walked past them.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, extra strength. Suggestive of a chronic body odor problem.”

“Oh, done there then,” Jack said, “What about her friend?”

“Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat.”

“Can I keep you?” he joked, appreciative of Sherlock’s ability to pick out the right birds for Jack to take home from the party.

“Do you like solving crimes?” Sherlock offered.

“Do you have a vacancy?”

Sherlock glanced over to Jane again, noticing that she took a large swig of wine, raised her eyes in surprise, then immediately spit it back into the glass.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

“So, this is it, then,” Mycroft’s voice said through the receiver of Sherlock’s phone, “I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”

Sherlock had called her brother to encourage him to join the festivities but he declined. “What do you mean?” she inquired. “I don’t understand.”

“This is what people do, they get married. I warned you, don’t get involved.”

“Involved? We’re...I'm," Sherlock caught her slip, "not involved."

“No? You’re in the wedding.”

“Jane asked me to be her chief bridesmaid. I couldn’t say no.”

“Absolutely! It’s not strange at all.”

“I’m not involved!”

“I believe you, really, I do. Have a lovely day and I wish the happy couple my best. Oh, and the bride and groom, too, I guess.”

“I’m not a child, Mycroft. I don’t care if you approve of my life anymore.”

“Of course. Enjoy not getting involved.”

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Jack had made his best man’s speech and then Sherlock heard her name called for her to make her own. Nervously, she started with a story of how she was asked by Jane to take the position. Sherlock reminisced back to the day that it happened.

“Busy?” Jane asked as she entered the flat at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock had been taking a blowtorch to an eyeball.

“Just occupying myself. Sometimes it’s so hard not smoking.”

“So, the big question,” Jane started as she sat at the table.

Sherlock placed the eyeball and equipment down and looked down at her friend.

“I need a chief bridesmaid.” Jane smiled and paused, waiting for a response from Sherlock.

“Molly?”

“She’s not my best friend.”

“Oh.” Sherlock couldn’t think of any other female friends of Jane. She knew she was close to Mike Stamford; they went out for drinks all the time. But Jane was a pretty traditional person, would she choose a man?

“This is the biggest and most important day of my life. I want to be up there with the two people that I love and care about most in the world.”

“Yes. Mark Morstan and…”

“You.”

“You mean I’m your best friend?”

“Yeah, ‘course you are.”

“But, Jane, we’ve dated.”

“Mark doesn’t mind,” Jane said with a sigh, knowing it would come up. “Look, we were together for two months before we broke up. But we were mates long before all that.”

“We didn’t really break up, you know.”

“You basically ghosted me. For two years. I can take a hint.”

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

After that story, Sherlock decided to entertain the guests with the story of the worst hen party she ever planned.

"Two beers please," she said to the barkeep before slamming down two polypropylene cylinders onto the counter. Sherlock, or rather Molly who had suddenly been called to work and couldn't join them, had calculated how much beer would be ideal for a pub crawl. She indicated the fill line for the barkeep.

At each pub, the women drank the same amount of alcohol as Sherlock kept track on her phone. However, when they got to the third pub, Sherlock was feeling a bit dizzier than she had anticipated. Had her calculations been wrong? A few pubs later Jane left for the loo right as Sherlock estimated so she put her fears aside. Besides, she was feeling too good to worry about it.

Losing all sense of time, Sherlock found herself on the stairs in 221 Baker Street, Jane laid out on top of her. Mrs. Hudson's voice filled the room but she couldn't make out anything she had said. They miraculously made it up the stairs to Sherlock's flat and were sitting in the armchairs in front of each other.

"Let's play the rizla game!" Jane sang, handing Sherlock strips of paper and a pen.

Jane's rizla read "Madonna" and Sherlock tried her best to come up with context on the name. There was the Virgin Mary but based on the newspaper article where she had found the name she was sure this person was no saint.

After passing off clues to each other, Sherlock felt confident enough to guess her rizla.

"So, I am human, I'm not as tall as people think I am. I'm nice-ish, clever, important to some people but I tend to rub them the wrong way." She chuckled. "Got it!"

"Go on, then," Jane encouraged.

"I'm you, aren't I?"

Jane laughed and then ran to the loo to vomit. Sherlock felt she may join her soon.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Sherlock woke the next morning on the hard floor of her room. Her back was stiff and aching. Slowly she managed to get herself up and saw that Jane was out cold on her bed. 

"Did we...did we go to jail?" she asked, shaking Jane awake.

Jane groaned, "No, I would remember if we did."

"I had such a vivid dream that Gavin threw us into the drunk tank at the Yard."

"Gavin?"

"You know, Inspector Lestrade."

"His name is Greg."

"Really?"

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Though Jack was the man in the situation, Sherlock led their dance. She couldn't believe how bad the best man's performance was. It was insulting that she was going to have to share a dance with him in front of every guest at the wedding, especially those she considered friends.

"You're a good teacher," he said to her when they finally stopped for a break. "And a brilliant dancer."

"I'll let you in on something, Jack," she hushed to him.

"Go on," he whispered.

"I love dancing. I've always loved it."

"Seriously?"

"Watch this."

Sherlock twirled herself into a pirouette.

"Woah."

"Never really comes up in crime work but, erm, you know I live in hope of the right case."

"I wish you weren't," Jack looked at her longingly, "whatever it is you are."

"I know."

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Jane and Mark had their first dance with everyone in the audience except Sherlock, who played a self-composed tune on her violin and watched from the stage. After the song was over, Sherlock made her way to the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just one last thing before the evening begins properly," she announced. The guests, Jane and Mark all gathered to hear Sherlock's words.

"Today, we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mark and Jane: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I will always be there, always, for all three of you. Er, er, er, I'm sorry I meant two of you. _Two._ I just miscounted. It's time for dancing, play the music!"

Sherlock exited the stage and rushed straight over to Jane, who had a look of anger on her face, and Mark, who was confused and stunned.

"Sorry, that was one deduction than I was expecting," she said to them.

"Deduction?" Mark asked.

"Increased appetite," Sherlock explained, "Jane with the food, change of taste perception with the wine she couldn't stand to drink, and she was sick this morning when we were getting dressed. All the signs are there."

"The signs of?" Mark asked.

"Jane, you should take a pregnancy test."

Jane's anger visually subsided and turned to confusion with Mark. "How did I not notice before, I'm a doctor. And it's my body!"

They each giggled and hugged each other. Mark and Jane kissed.

"Go dance!" Sherlock commanded. "We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about."

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"So, I am human, I'm not as tall as people think I am. I'm nice-ish, clever, important to some people but I tend to rub them the wrong way." She chuckled. "Got it!"

"Go on, then," Jane encouraged.

"I'm you, aren't I?"

Jane laughed and ran to the loo to vomit. Sherlock felt she may join her soon. She came out after some time and sat on her knees in front of Sherlock.

"What, me?" she asked, laughing again. Her breath was fresh from Sherlock's favorite mouthwash.

"That's my guess. Jane Watson, soon to be Jane Morstan."

"No," Jane shook her head. "That's not what your paper says _and_ I'm not going to take Mark's name."

Jane leaned forward to remove Sherlock's rizla from her forehead when Sherlock bent toward her at the same time. Their lips met in a sloppy, wet snog. Jane put her hands into Sherlock's hair and Sherlock fumbled with the fly on Jane's jeans. Sherlock hastily wiggled out of her clothing, never letting her mouth leave Jane's, afraid that if they stopped for air that they would come to their senses and end it all.

They stumbled into Sherlock's room and continued their actions in her bed. Though it had been two years, neither woman felt lost at what they were doing and continued on as if they had never been separated. Sherlock sucked and licked as Jane reacted to every touch. Moans, whispers, and sighs filled the room until Sherlock could feel herself fade into the darkness and her soul escape her body. It was almost as if she was watching herself from above like she was on the ceiling and saw every movement.

When it was over, Sherlock laid her head on Jane's chest, just between her breasts and enjoyed Jane's fingers brushing through her dark locks. Jane's heartbeat was still quick and never slowed after several minutes so Sherlock prevented herself from falling asleep and sat up to look at her.

She knew Jane had to be feeling some sort of regret, whether it was for what they just did or for the wedding she already booked and threw money at that she would have to cancel. But Sherlock was sure the amount of alcohol they had consumed that night would have held those thoughts back until at least the morning.

"I haven't had my period and it was due last Wednesday," Jane said after Sherlock turned on the lamp on the nightstand next to them.

"Well, you have been planning a wedding, it could be stress."

"I want to take a test, just in case."

Sherlock moved like she was on fire. She was dressed and out the door in less than a minute and returned before Jane had even put her underclothes back on.

After Jane made her deposit on the stick, the two shared some Chinese take-away that she had also grabbed when she was out.

"You're a doctor and you think you're pregnant but you went out and got boozed up anyway?" Sherlock asked.

"Don't be so judgy," Jane replied, kicking Sherlock playfully. "No, I didn't. I pretended to drink and when you were getting a bit pissed and didn't notice, I poured my drinks into your cylinder."

"Clever, Jane. Now, let's see if you're harboring a fugitive."

Jane didn't laugh so Sherlock just reached for the test swiftly and read the results.

"Positive."

"No fucking way."

"I mean, it is a possibility if you..."

"Shut your mouth, Sherlock."

Neither of them said anything for a long time and then:

"We can raise her together."

Sherlock was staring at Jane in that stonefaced way she gets when she is thinking too much. But she wasn't thinking. All of her thoughts were gone. The only thing on her mind was Jane and the baby and how Sherlock just wanted everything to go back to when Jane belonged to her and Mark Morstan didn't exist.

"No, Sherlock, this is Mark's baby."

"In DNA only."

"I'm marrying him next week."

"Why? You're here with me. After what we did?"

"I have to, Sherlock, please. I'm not..."

"You're not gay?"

"I'm not!"

"You just...Jane I know you're not stupid but this is so stupid."

"I'm going to marry Mark, I'm going to have his baby, and you and I are going to be best friends and that's it."

Sherlock was frantic. She clenched to Jane's shoulders. Her arms wrapped around the blonde woman and she almost held her like a baby, holding her close to her. "I can't lose you again."

"That's the thing, Sherlock. _You_ left _me_ first. Remember that."

And for the first time since Sherlock had known her, Jane did not shed one tear.

"So, do you want to call him and give him the good news?" Sherlock said, resigning to Jane's decision.

"Oh, no, I'll keep it a secret until after the wedding."

"If that's what you want to do."

"You can keep a secret, right Sherlock?"

"I've kept you a secret in my heart for years."

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

When no one was looking, Sherlock snuck out the back door and left the wedding reception. She pulled on her favorite coat, wrapping it tightly around her silk gown and pushed up the collar against the light breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I opened my eyes found myself alone above a raging sea, that stole the only girl I loved and drowned her deep inside of me." - The Cure, _Just Like Heaven_


	7. Her Last Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So, it’s just a guess but you’ve probably got some questions,” Sherlock considered._
> 
> _“Yeah, one or two, pretty much,” Jane responded sardonically. “You have a boyfriend?”_
> 
> _“Yes, I have. I’m going out with Jack. I thought that was fairly obvious.”_
> 
> _“You’re seeing someone? But we were just...”_
> 
> _“Jane, you’re_ married _. And you haven’t seen me in a month. You can't imagine that I'd move on?”_
> 
> _“Well, I had my honeymoon and then I was busy at the surgery...”_
> 
> _“Yes, a honeymoon for your marriage.”_
> 
> Sherlock vowed to protect Jane and Mark but she never promised to protect their marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has the most divergence from the original series. Certain scenes that I like are in it but the plot is nearly entirely changed and a lot of the dialogue is different.

Any fragment of guilt that Jane had about not having seen Sherlock in the last month disappeared the instant she heard her voice in the drug den.

Sleep had been impeded from Jane and Mark early that morning when their neighbor Kate Whitney had pounded on their door. She was inconsolable about her son, Isaac, who had run off and got himself in trouble with drugs again. Jane was determined to help almost immediately, her maternal instincts kicking in.

“It is Sherlock Holmes you want?” Jane offered to the distraught woman. “I haven’t seen her in ages but I guess for you I could find her.” It made sense that Kate had come to their door about her missing son, most people knew that Jane was Sherlock’s partner.

“Who’s Sherlock Holmes?” Kate asked between hiccoughs.

“See? Not everyone knows about it,” Mark commented and Jane felt slightly insulted.

“What’s the address?” Jane asked sternly.

Next thing she knew, Jane was running to the car, ready to find Kate’s son herself.

“Seriously?” Mark cried. “You’re pregnant! You can’t do this.”

“Then come with me.”

They barged their way into the drug house, Mark wrestled a knife-wielding junkie as Jane ran through the building calling for Isaac.

“Dr. Watson?” a sickly young man coughed from a dirty mattress. Jane attended to him quickly when someone behind her spoke.

“Ah, hello, Jane,” cooed Sherlock. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Did you come for me, too?”

Furiously, Jane and Mark drove Sherlock, Isaac, and the junkie who threatened them to Barts. Jane demanded Molly to give Sherlock a drug test, which turned out to be dirty. From there the lot split up, Mark taking the boys home while Jane dragged Sherlock to Baker Street to meet the wrath of Mycroft.

“You phoned him?” Sherlock hissed with accusation.

“’Course I bloody phoned him.”

“Save me a little time and tell me where we should be looking,” Mycroft spat.

“There’s nothing to find.”

“Your bedroom door is shut," Mycroft screamed while pointing at the door at the end of the hall. "You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a woman who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of her mother bother to do so on this occasion?”

“This isn’t what you think. It’s for a case.”

“What case could justify this?”

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

“Magnussen is not your business.”

“Oh, you mean he’s yours.”

“If you go against him then you will find yourself going against me.”

“I’ll let you know if I notice. Bye-bye.”

Sherlock rushed to the door and opened it to let Mycroft out.

“Unwise, sister mine.”

Jane rolled her eyes as Sherlock apprehended Mycroft and pinned him to the wall. Mycroft squealed in pain and Jane moved in to break them up.

“Brother mine, don’t appall me when I’m high.”

“Just leave, Mycroft,” Jane begged while trying to free Sherlock’s grip from the man. “Don’t speak, just leave.” Mycroft obliged.

“I’m meeting Magnussen in three hours, I need a bath,” Sherlock said, mood completely turned around from just moments before when she physically assaulted her brother in the kitchen.

“It’s for a case, you said? What sort of case?”

“Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in.”

“You’re trying to put me off?”

“God no.”

Then, before Jane could say anything else, Sherlock’s lips were on her. She let herself melt into Sherlock’s arms. Damn the drugs, damn Mark, damn her pregnancy. Nothing was better than a snog with Sherlock Holmes.

Jane moaned, allowing Sherlock’s tongue into her mouth and her hands to wrap around the taller woman’s neck.

“Shh, we shouldn’t be so loud, my love,” Sherlock warned.

“Why? Is Mrs. Hudson home?”

“Hmm? Oh, probably.”

“Let’s go to your bedroom, then.”

“Er, no, absolutely not.”

Angrily, Jane placed her hands on Sherlock’s chest and pushed her away. Mycroft was right, she’s hiding something in that room _._

“If you don’t want to engage in relations then I’ll go take that bath now,” Sherlock sang, unnerved from Jane’s displeasure. “And stay out of my room.”

Once Sherlock was in the bathroom and the water was running, Jane made her way to the bedroom to investigate. That’s when Jack walked out in nothing but a vest and pants.

“Oh, hi, Jane,” he said with a large grin.

Jane was bewildered. “Jack?!”

“Has everybody gone? I heard shouting. Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?

“Mike?”

“Her brother. They’re always fighting.”

“Mycroft.”

“Do people actually call him that? Could you be a love and put some coffee on?”

“Sure, right, yeah.”

“Where’s Sherly?”

“Sherly!” Jane laughed. “She’s just having a bath. I’m sure she’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh, like she ever is!”

Jack went into the bathroom to join Sherlock. Jane was so upset that she was pacing the kitchen and searched each cupboard until she found the coffee. Why did Sherlock move it?

It was an hour later when Jack had finally left and Sherlock was dried and dressed from her bath. She sat across from Jane.

“So, it’s just a guess but you’ve probably got some questions,” Sherlock considered.

“Yeah, one or two, pretty much,” Jane responded sardonically. “You have a _boy_ friend?”

“Yes, I have. I’m going out with Jack. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“You’re seeing someone? But we were just...”

“Jane, you’re _married_. And you haven’t seen me in a month. You can't imagine that I'd move on?”

“Well, I had my honeymoon and then I was busy at the surgery...”

“Yes, a honeymoon for your marriage.”

“We just snogged not an hour ago while your _boyfriend_ was in the bedroom. How’s that now?”

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"Magnussen's private lift," Sherlock explained to Jane as the pair wandered the CAM Global News building and stopped at a lone door on an empty wall. "It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed."

Sherlock pulled a key card out of her pocket. She opened her mouth to explain her plan about having corrupted the magnetic strip when a crew of EMTs turned up around them. Some security guards were escorting people from the building. Sherlock and Jane retreated.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"I'm buying a cottage," Jack announced as he sat next to Sherlock in her flat a few days later. He was holding a newspaper that read _Exclusive: Sherlock Holmes Kiss and Tell._ "I made a lot of money out of you."

"I'm glad you have a back-up plan now that your employer is dead," Sherlock said absentmindedly.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are a back-stabbing, heartless, manipulative bitch."

"And you, as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid manwhore."

"You lied to me. You dated me just to get to Mr. Magnussen. You knew I worked for him."

"I exploited the fact of our connection, yes."

"I wish you had exploited it in bed at least."

"Oh. You know I'm a lesbian, right?"

"I got to go. You know, I am curious to know if you don't know who killed him?"

"I'm investigating it."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

Jane's mobile rang and she answered it in haste when she saw it was Sherlock. Sherlock never calls when she can text.

"Love, I solved who murdered Magnussen, meet me at Leinster Gardens in fifteen minutes."

**MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM MM**

Sherlock was at the end of the corridor, a blinding light focused from behind her so she was only a silhouette from where Mark stood. He smirked when he could see her signature curls and turned-up coat collar even as a shadow.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" Mark called, annoyed.

"Mark Morstan was stillborn in October 1972," Sherlock replied, "his gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where, five years ago, you acquired his name and date of birth and thereafter his identity. I understand that perhaps Magnussen had information on you that you didn't want out, but you could have come to me. I would have helped you. Why didn't you?"

From behind him, Sherlock emerged. The figured ahead was a dummy. Of course.

"What? And let Jane find out that I lied to her? It would break her and I would lose her forever. Sherlock, I will never let that happen. Please, understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry about that, mate," Sherlock said without an ounce of regret.

The woman flipped a switch and from the end of the corridor, where the dummy sat, wasn't a dummy at all but Jane, in Sherlock's oversized coat and her hair made up in curls.

Mark closed his eyes in defeat. It was all over now. He knew that Jane would leave him and run back into the arms of Sherlock. What would even happen to the child that Jane was carrying? Did she really expect to raise him with the woman they had found in a drug den, high from a long list of nasty stuff, not only two weeks ago?

No matter the outcome, one thing was for sure: Sherlock should have stayed dead.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

A small trail of light peeked through the curtains, allowing Jane just enough to look at Sherlock properly. Sherlock dozed on the pillow next to her. She had fingers in her hair, enjoying the thickness and softness of her curls. Sherlock's lips fluttered when she breathed. Jane didn't mind that she snored. It was something she could use to pin the genius detective as truly human. To Jane, Sherlock was _the_ woman. Every inch of her was perfection.

Jane lay on her side, her rotund belly prevented her from comfortably lying on her back. Pregnancy caused so many changes in Jane. The smell of the sex she and Sherlock just had was fierce in her nose. At the beginning of their affair, when they would perform this act behind Mark's back she would feel a pang of heavy guilt. Now, the hormones convinced her it was good and okay.

She was so in love with Sherlock it hurt. Like a swift kick from the baby after a sip of cool water, it was there in her abdomen. After the reveal of Mark's treachery, Jane had considered leaving him. She just wasn't sure if Sherlock's relapse was completely behind her. There were times when they made love and she didn't seem to really be in the moment. Jane wanted so badly to replace Mark with Sherlock permanently.

A knock at the door startled Jane and woke Sherlock from her nap. Jane pulled her hand away from her and grabbed at the duvet and covered herself all the way up over her head.

Sherlock threw on her dressing gown and answered the door.

"Hello, Daddy," she said groggily.

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Sherly, dear," Jane heard Mr. Holmes say from outside. "Mark is asking for Jane and we can't seem to find her anywhere."

Jane nearly groaned. They had been at Sherlock's parent's cottage for Christmas but it was still early enough in the day to avoid everyone until supper. She thought Mark was diverted enough with a book by the fire. Sherlock suggested they wander off for a little alone time and Jane sprang at the opportunity. Pregnancy made her randy and besides, it was much better than having to listen to Mycroft grumble about having to visit.

"She's probably in the loo," Sherlock told her father. "Or down for a nap. Or going back and forth between both. She is carrying a child."

"Okay, dear. But those two. They all right?"

"You know, they've had their ups and downs."

Mr. Holmes left and Sherlock returned to the bed. Jane got up reluctantly and almost impossibly with her large stomach. She rued having to go back to Mark and she was sure Sherlock did, too.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"I've deduced who killed Magnussen," Mycroft said before taking a drag from his cigarette.

Sherlock blew smoke from her mouth and tapped some ash from her own cigarette. "As have I. You must understand the predicament we're in with it. I hate to throw Jane into something like this. You can't just write it off somehow? You are the British Government after all."

"Unfortunately, though Ihave deduced that Mark Morstan assassinated Charles Augustus Magnussen in his office that night several months ago, there has been much evidence that cannot be written off. It points to the killer as _you_ , dear sister."

Sherlock looked at him and froze. Her cigarette burned up, unused, as she remained motionless.

"Perhaps the activities you and Dr. Watson have occupied yourselves with, at least those outside of the criminal chase, have motivated her husband to frame you."

"Fuck you, Mycroft."

"I have a job offer I should like you to accept for the sake of Mummy not having to watch you get locked up in prison for life."

"I decline your kind offer."

"That's not very wise, is it?"

"What is it?"

"MI6, they want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment."

"Sounds dangerous."

"It's better than prison."

"Fine. I accept."

Sherlock turned away from her brother, who was putting out his cigarette and resigning back to the cottage. In the window just off of the sitting room, she spotted the face of Mark. He glowered at her through the glass. She waved at him with a smirk.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

A week after New Years, Jane, Sherlock, and Mycroft were on the tarmac of a private airfield in front of the jet that was going to take Sherlock away forever.

"Mark didn't want to say goodbye?" Sherlock said but her tone indicated she was happy to not see the berk.

"I'm moving back into Baker Street. We're done, him and me," Jane reported proudly.

"That's my girl." Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "Since this is likely the last conversation I'll have with Jane Watson, would you mind if we took a moment?"

Jane sighed and felt some tears well up in the corners of her eyes. Mycroft and the security guards walked some few meters ahead and left the women alone to talk.

Sherlock approached Jane and grabbed her hands. They smiled at each other, Jane still forcing to keep the tears at bay.

"Wilhemina Sherlock Scotia Holmes," Sherlock said slowly.

"What?"

"That's the whole of it. If you're looking for baby names."

"No," Jane laughed, allowing herself to smile despite the miserable situation they were facing. "I had a scan, we are having a boy."

It was unspoken but they both knew who Jane meant by "we."

"Sherlock is a boy's name!"

"I know but there's only one Sherlock in my heart."

They kissed a chaste kiss, one that could follow the words, 'you may now kiss the bride,' inside a church. They held each other for far too long and Mycroft had to return to Sherlock's side to get them to let go.

**MH MH MH MH MH MH MH MH MH MH MH MH**

"Hello, little sister, how is the exile going?" Mycroft said once his call to Sherlock connected.

"I've only been gone for four minutes," she stammered. He could tell that she had been crying, something he hadn't known her to do since she was an adolescent.

"Well, I certainly hope you've learned your lesson."

"What's happened?"

"Did you miss me?" said Jessalyn Moriarty on the screen of the small television in front of Mycroft. "Did you miss me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Take me into your arms and hold me tight, yeah, pull me close. Whisper in my ear, all I want you to say is, baby, you're the highlight of my lowlife." - That Poppy, _Lowlife_


	8. The Abominable Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Victorian London, Mr. Holmes and his friend Dr. Watson investigate a murder committed by a dead woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a fun and short chapter that doesn't really continue the story except at the end. However, there is a clue to something that you might catch if you read it. Enjoy.

In 1895, a mutton chop clad Inspector Lestrade stumbled into 221B Baker Street, distraught and frightened. The occupants of said rooms were Holmes, a proper English gentleman of the era, and Watson, a doctor and veteran of war.

"Now, Inspector," spoke Holmes, hoping to get a good case out of the policeman, "what strange happening compels you to my door but embarrasses you to relate?"

"Ah, ah, ah, Holmes, you have misdiagnosed," piped up Watson, "He's not embarrassed, he's afraid."

"I'm...I'm not afraid, exactly," admitted Lestrade.

"From the beginning, then."

Lestrade described a ghastly story, bringing both Watson and Holmes to the edge of their seats in anticipation. Suicide, a body escaping the morgue, mariticide, and a phantom murderer were all featured. Holmes took the case almost immediately. He and Watson made their way to the hospital to examine any evidence.

* * *

"Holmes," said a man from the other side of the morgue.

"Hooper," responded Holmes.

Dr. Hooper was shorter than any man Holmes knew. There was something about him that bothered Holmes in the back of his mind. Next to him, Watson's eyes bulged in surprised. What was it about Hooper that Holmes was missing?

"There are two features of interest," detailed Hooper as he traced his small fingers over the dead body. "This is definitely Emelia Ricoletti. She has been identified."

"Then who was that in Limehouse last night?" inquired Watson.

"That was also Emelia Ricoletti. She was positively identified by her own husband seconds before he died. He had no reason to lie and he could not have been mistaken."

"She can't have been in two places at once. Holmes, could it have been twins?"

"No. It's never twins," stated Holmes. "Emelia was not a twin, nor did she have any sisters."

"Maybe it was a secret twin!" suggested Watson with excitement.

"What kind of person has a secret twin, from the moment of conception as a precedent to one day commit murder? It's never a twin, Watson."

"It could be twins one day," murmured Watson under his breath.

"Gun in the mouth, a bullet through the brain, back of the head blown clean off. How could she survive?"

* * *

"God, this is the longest night of my life," grumbled Watson as he and Holmes waited for the potential murderer to reveal herself.

"Have patience," encouraged Holmes.

"You know, it's rare for us to sit together like this."

"I should hope so. It's murder on the knees."

They smiled at each other. Holmes suddenly had the urge to kiss Watson but kept himself very still instead.

"Two old friends, just talking, chewing the fat, man to man," mused Watson. "She's a remarkable woman."

"Who?"

"Lady Carmichael."

"The fair sex is your department, Watson. I'll take your word for it."

"Don't you have any interest in beautiful creatures?"

"Why are you talking like this?"

"Why are you determined to be alone?"

"Are you quite well, Watson?"

"Holmes, against absolutely no opposition, I am your closest friend. I am attempting to have a perfectly normal conversation with you."

"Please don't."

"Why do you need to be alone?"

"If you are referring to romantic entanglement, Watson, I have often explained that all emotion is abhorrent to me."

"You're a living, breathing man. You've lived a life. You have a past."

"What are you going on about?"

"Well, you must have had..."

"Had what?"

"You know."

"No."

"Experiences," sighed Watson.

"Pass me the revolver, I have a sudden need to use it."

"Damn it, Holmes. You are flesh and blood. You have feelings. You must have impulses."

"Dear Lord, I have never been so impatient to be attacked by a murderous ghost."

* * *

"How can you be alive?!" the present-day, woman Sherlock's voice rang out as she heard the sound of the jet landing around her.

Somehow, she was the male Victorian-era Holmes again, standing in front of Jess Moriarty in the sitting room of Baker Street. Moriarty was dressed in her signature woman's suit, complete with a pencil skirt.

"You blew your own brains out. How could you survive?" Holmes said. "I saw you die. Why aren't you dead?"

"Because it's not the fall that kills you, Sherlock," Moriarty final spoke. "It's the landing."

* * *

"Look around you," said Holmes as he paced the candlelit room he and Watson snuck into and interrupted the strange, theatric ritual of black hoods and chanting. "This room is full of brides. Anyone could be her. The avenging ghost, a legend to strike terror into the heart of any man with malicious intent. A league of furies awakened. The women we have lied to and betrayed. The women we have ignored and disparaged."

Holmes turned around to face Watson. Watson was now a woman in men's clothing, a fake mustache on her face.

"Jane?"

Hooper stood next to Watson. He removed his disguise to reveal that he, too, was a woman.

"Molly?"

"Is this silly enough for you yet?" called Moriarty from behind him. "It doesn't make sense because it isn't real."

Moriarty was no longer a woman, but a man in the dead bride's dress. Frightened, Holmes took a step back and grabbed at his chest. It was no longer flat. Tuffs of dark curls hung from his deerstalker hat. Holmes was a woman now as well.

"Watson, what's happening!?" Sherlock cried with fear.

"My husband would be very disappointed in me if he knew about this Sherlock," Jane whispered. "Or if he knew what I did with you."

"Miss me?" Sherlock said as she jerked away from her vision.

"Are you alright?" the real Jane asked. They were on the plane, everything had been some drug-fueled dream.

"I have to go to Baker Street now," Sherlock grunted. "Moriarty's back and I know how."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You can't resist her  
> She's in your bones  
> She is your marrow  
> And your ride home  
> You can't avoid her  
> She's in the air (in the air)  
> In between molecules  
> Of oxygen and carbon dioxide"  
> -Weezer, _Only in Dreams_


	9. The Noble Divorcé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It's a joke for you, right?" Mark blurted. "Jane steps out on me but because it's Sherlock bloody Holmes all should be forgiven. They were in love before Mark and they will continue after him. Huh? Is that it?"_
> 
> _"It's not a joke, obviously. Nothing like that. We have fans, or whatever you want to call them, and they...I don't know, have opinions on our romantic entanglement," Jane said remorsefully._
> 
> _"It's not a joke," Sherlock smirked, "but you have to admit it's pretty funny."_
> 
> _"I've never hit a woman in my life, Holmes, but I swear to God..."_
> 
> _"And I'll still be able to lay you out on this pavement if you do, short-arse."_
> 
> Sherlock and Mark go out on a case together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be certain plot points similar to The Six Thatchers, this chapter is pretty much its own thing compared to the episode.
> 
> Please note, this is the chapter that contains the death of a character but you've probably already guessed that.

"You really don't have to come with me to these appointments, Sherlock," Jane said as she struggled to get herself onto the examination table. "I'll be having two a week until the big day."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jane," Sherlock argued while trying to help her onto the table, "I missed so much at the beginning because of Mark."

"Speaking of which, he's still invited and he mentioned today that he would come."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to share custody and it's his baby, too."

"You keep saying that but I can't be sure you actually believe it."

Unfortunately for Sherlock, Mark did show up. He entered the exam room with a playful knock on the door and a smug grin. Sherlock watched in contempt as he moved over to Jane and gave her a light kiss on the forehead. He extended his hand to Sherlock but she crossed her arms instead and only gave him a small nod. Jane tsked.

The ob-gyn entered and all hell broke loose.

"Sherlock Holmes!" exhaled the delighted Dr. Adams. "Dr. Watson didn't mention she would bring you."

"A fan of Jane's blog?" Sherlock laughed. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mark stirring with what she deduced as annoyance.

Dr. Adams was a sweet, young woman who smiled warmly at Sherlock and Jane. "Guilty as charged. I hope it's not an overstep to say that I am so happy you two found love."

Jane cleared her throat uncomfortably and Dr. Adams turned away from Sherlock's face long enough to catch a glimpse of Mark.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the young doctor said sheepishly, "I didn't see you there, Mr. Morstan."

When the examination was over and the doctor left, Mark followed Jane and Sherlock out to their car. He hummed an aura of pronounced resentment. As they attempted to part ways and give their polite goodbyes, Mark exploded on them.

"It's a joke for you, right?" Mark blurted. "Jane steps out on _me_ but because it's Sherlock bloody Holmes all should be forgiven. They were in love before Mark and they will continue after him. Huh? Is that it?"

Jane appeared remorseful but she plopped herself into the car before acknowledging Mark's outburst. "It's not a joke, obviously. Nothing like that. We have fans, or whatever you want to call them, and they...I don't know, have opinions on our romantic entanglement."

"It's not a joke," Sherlock smirked, "but you have to admit it's pretty funny."

"I've never hit a woman in my life, Holmes, but I swear to God..."

"And I'll still be able to lay you out on this pavement if you do, short-arse."

"Okay, that's enough!" Jane cried, throwing her hands in the air. "I don't know if you sods can fucking tell but I am pregnant and days away from giving birth. I am sorry, Mark. Sorrier than I can ever express. But none of that matters right now. We're getting divorced because both of us hurt each other, now Sherlock and I are together. That's it. That's what happened. Can we focus on the important things we can control? Like parenting this baby once it comes?"

"I..." Mark started then he paused briefly. "There's a lot of hard feelings, but, yes, I can focus on the baby instead."

"This has already gotten boring," Sherlock affirmed while checking her phone. "We have a time-sensitive case we need to get to. Excuse us, please, Mark. We'll call you if Jane's water breaks."

"Oh, no, I'm too tired for all that," Jane groaned. "I'm going to take a nap."

"I certainly can't go on a case like this without you or Gabriel to buffer the human interaction."

Mark looked at Jane with sudden confusion and she mouthed, "Lestrade," to him for some reason.

"Take Mark, then, I don't know. It takes a lot of energy to be pregnant and I have a tiny pain here where the baby is pushing his foot into me."

It was the dumbest idea one ever heard but when Jane said it, Mark straightened his back and faced Sherlock.

"I'd love to," he said mischievously.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” greeted a vicar outside of the church when Sherlock and Mark arrived. “I’m an avid reader of Dr. Watson’s blog and when the events transpired, I knew I had to contact you.”

“Yes, thank you for considering me,” Sherlock said inattentively as she walked past him to enter the cathedral and surveilled for clues. Everything was decorated for a wedding and there were even some guests still lingering in the hall.

“And you aren’t Dr. Watson,” the vicar said to Mark, reaching out his hand to shake.

“No, I’m Mark Morstan, her…er,” Mark trailed off, not sure exactly how to describe his relationship with the absent doctor.

“Mr. Morstan is my current assistant while Dr. Watson is on maternity leave,” Sherlock interrupted helpfully.

“I hope you give her my congratulations when you see her,” the vicar spoke with a small smile. “But, let me lead you to Mr. Simon. He’s not doing well at all.”

The three of them entered a tiny room, one usually reserved for a bride or groom to get ready for their ceremony. It was occupied by a groom, but one that appeared distressed and troubled. He looked up at them slowly and greeted them solemnly.

“The bride, the newly Mrs. Simon,” explained the vicar when the groom couldn’t bear to speak, “has gone missing right after taking the vows.”

“I’ve heard of runaway brides before the ceremony but never after,” Sherlock mused. Mark gave her a look but she didn't confess the irony.

“I’ve officiated a great number of marriages and haven’t seen anything like it,” the vicar responded with a nod.

“Any doors in the church that lock up when closed? Anyway for her to have gotten simply lost and trapped somewhere?”

“It is an old church, Ms. Holmes, but I assure you, we sent a search party.”

“And what was the woman’s maiden name?”

“Hatty Doran,” the groom sobbed.

Sherlock immediately pulled out her phone and began searching the internet for any information on the bride.

“Mr. Simon,” Mark piped up, trying to rouse the groom from his sniveling, “tell us about what happened today. Did you two have a row or anything?”

“No!” the man wept defensively. “No, she was so happy today and every day I’ve known her.”

“So, there was nothing that changed in her?”

“Well, she was a bit jittery, I wrote it off as nerves. She dropped her bouquet and a guest picked it up for her and that only seemed to make her even more anxious.”

“Who was the guest?” Sherlock demanded, turning away from her mobile long enough to pierce Simon with her powder blue eyes.

“I got a good look at him but I didn’t know him. Hatty must have, though. She looked at him like she did. Maybe a family friend I haven't met yet.”

"And is he still around?"

"He might have gotten mixed up with the guests who are looking for her."

“Excuse me,” spoke a woman as she entered the room. “I’ve just come from the search party and we have checked every corner of this church and Hatty isn’t anywhere.”

“Thank you, Flora,” Simon sighed heavily.

“You’re a bridesmaid,” Sherlock stated, not really asking.

“Yes, a friend of Hatty’s from work. Are you with the police?”

“Not exactly, but we are working to find your friend,” Mark said when Sherlock went back to thumbing at her phone.

“Did she say anything to you about her cold feet?” Sherlock said, this time not looking up from the screen.

“I’m sorry, whoever you are, but it wasn’t cold feet!” Flora snapped at her. “She was happy as a clam all morning until…”

“Until what?”

“She got a text and after that...her demeanor was very different.”

“Where’s her phone now? Could we check for this text?”

“No, her phone is missing as well.”

“Kidnapped women don’t take their phones with them,” Sherlock said and this caused Simon to howl loudly with heavy sobs. “She left on her own accord. Look at this.”

Sherlock had forced her mobile into Simon’s face. The vicar, Mark, and Flora all flinched at the sudden movement as if she was going to strike him.

"Sherlock, don't be so insensitive!" Mark shouted but Sherlock waved him off.

“Is this the man who picked up the bouquet?” Sherlock demanded to the groom.

“What? I…” Simon muttered before wiping the tears from his eyes and studied the image. “Yes. That’s him.”

The detective inhaled deeply and began, “Hatty Doran, whose maiden name is actually Hatty Miller, had been previously married and widowed. However, it turns out her first husband hadn’t died but instead was missing in action. Even though she had moved on with you, Mr. Simon, when Frank Doran, her first husband, texted her this morning to tell her that he is still alive, she was unsure exactly what to do. After he showed up at the wedding, she set her mind to it and they ran off together. Despite taking vows, your marriage will dissolve anyway because of the bigamy. Not a kidnapping.”

The room went silent when Flora scoffed and commented, “You got all that from a text message you haven’t read and wedding jitters?”

“And a little help from Google and, er, personal experience,” Sherlock quipped with regret. She looked at Mark, who frowned and shook his head.

Mr. Simon rose from his chair quickly and sniffed. “Hatty had told me about Frank, yes. I can’t believe he wasn’t really dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mark said, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder for encouragement.

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

The contractions were more than six minutes apart but Jane was still concerned about the time. She rang Sherlock half a dozen times already without an answer. Mark wasn't responding either. Jane swore if they hadn't killed each other that she would murder them herself.

She tossed her overnight bag down the stairs, which startled poor Mrs. Hudson who was coming up to check on her.

"Oh, Jane dear, what's happening?" the landlady asked worriedly.

"I've gone into labor," Jane grunted as she attempted to decline the staircase. "And my two idiots won't answer the phone."

"I'll take you, don't worry. I'll pull my car around."

The red Aston Martin zoomed through the London streets and Jane nervously held on to the dashboard.

"I think I made a new record," Mrs. Hudson laughed when they arrived.

Sherlock and Mark ran in just as Jane was being seated in a wheelchair. She glanced at them and shook her head. "Remind me to never get a ride from Mrs. Hudson again."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

"So, what are you going to name him?" Molly Hooper asked, the new baby in her arms as Jane relaxed in the hospital bed in front of her.

"I'm still keen on Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said.

Mark piped up his suggestion, "Oh, I really like Richmond or Hamish."

Jane sighed and rolled her eyes. Molly giggled.

"John Michael," Jane stated proudly. "For my father, God rest his soul, and for the man who introduced me to Sherlock."

**JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW JW**

John was growing fast, already two months old and Jane was getting restless being cooped up in the flat. She eventually convinced Mark to take the baby while she and Sherlock met up with Greg for a case.

The officer explained that a cabinet minister's son was supposedly away in Tibet when his body, a week dead, was found in his burned car on their property. Jane wasn't sure if Sherlock had a theory yet but she did mention how strange that there were two types of fabric found in the car's passenger seat.

They introduced themselves to the Welsboroughs and Sherlock immediately took interest in some collectibles in a corner of the room.

"Bit a fan of Mrs. T," said Mr. Welsborough as Sherlock looked over the collector items spread out on the little table. "Big hero of mine when I was getting started."

"Who?" Sherlock questioned.

"What?!" Mr. Welsoborough cried incredulously.

"Who is this?"

"Are you serious?"

"Sherlock," Jane warned. Surely Sherlock was not this ignorant.

"It's Margaret Thatcher, the first female prime minister of this country."

"Right," Sherlock replied with comprehension then, "Prime minister?"

"Leader of the government."

Jane held out her hands and waved them while she shook her head as if to say, "Don't entertain this," to Mr. Welsborough.

"Female?" Sherlock asked which caused Jane to huff audibly and pull on her shoulder.

"For God's sake. You know perfectly well who she is," Jane scolded. "Stop stalling."

Sherlock solved the case soon enough, and as Jane had predicted, already had known the whole time. There was something about the Iron Lady that caught the detective's attention, though, and Jane wondered if she would ever know why.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

"I met her once," Mycroft said from behind his desk in the Diogenes club.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock clarified, knowing full well who she was. 

"Rather arrogant, I thought."

"You thought that?"

Mycroft chuckled. "I know!" He frowned and held up Sherlock's phone. "Why am I looking at this?"

"That's him. Jane's...and my baby." Sherlock admired the photo. Yes, John was her baby, too, she couldn't forget that.

"Oh, I see. Yes. Looks very functioning."

"Is that really the best you can do?"

"Sorry. I've never been very good with them."

"Babies?"

"Humans."

"The Christening will be next weekend. Will you attend?"

"I suppose I have some familial _obligation_."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock cried with enthusiasm.

**SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH**

Mark's rushed footsteps from behind her alerted Sherlock to his arrival to the aquarium. She looked over at him and nodded. The animosity they had for each other over the last year was over now, she could feel it. It was time for him to meet the woman responsible for Mark's forced retirement as an assassin.

"Mark, let me introduce Amo," she said to him, motioning to the older woman sitting on the bench ahead of them. "Vivian Norbury."

"You?" Mark questioned, taken aback from the woman's meek exterior.

"Using AGRA as her private assassination unit through issue of Jessalyn Moriarty herself," Sherlock confirmed.

"Well, it would be churlish to deny it all," the woman said, rising to her feet and facing them. "I bought myself a little time but now it looks like I'm at my end."

"You must understand my brother's position," Sherlock offered, "you know we can help you out. _If_ you give up Moriarty."

"After what she did?" Mark snapped, fire in his eyes. He leaped towards Norbury but she brandished a gun from her purse, stopping him immediately.

"Mark, no!" Sherlock warned, trying to pull him back but just missing the back of his coat.

Norbury simpered before aiming the gun at Sherlock and cocking it. "Maybe I can still surprise you."

Sherlock did not react, she didn't have to. After all this work, there was no way that Moriarty would allow her to die at the hands of one of his minions. It would be too easy.

Then, Norbury pulled the trigger.

Sherlock gasped and before she could close her eyes and accept the bullet coming straight toward her, Mark jumped in front of her. The bullet lodged into his chest, a spray of blood landed at Sherlock's feet. His body landed roughly onto the concrete floor with a loud thud. She fell to her knees and grabbed him, suddenly forgetting anything she previously knew about how to treat a bleeding wound.

"Surprise," Vivian Norbury triumphed before Lestrade and some other officers apprehended her.

"Get an ambulance!" Sherlock screamed at Lestrade. She felt warm tears and hot blood at the same time and the sensation was overwhelming. Looking down at the still conscious Mark, she spoke lightly to him. "Everything is fine. It's all right. You're all right."

"Tell Jane that I'm sorry," Mark whispered as well as he could with a collapsed lung. "Tell John..." he grunted in pain "...about me?"

"Of course," she replied. She didn't know what else to say, she was losing him.

"Take care of them, Sherlock."

His body went limp in her arms and the light left his eyes. Sherlock closed her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, and I'm afraid that's just the way the world works. But I think that it could work for you and me. Just wait and see, it's not the end of the story." - Conan Gray, _The Story_


End file.
